


The Frog

by Ephy



Series: Like a fairy tale [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Dick/Bruce, Background Lex/Jason, Bad Ending, Did I mention the Joker, M/M, Psychological Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, The Joker is a warning, This is way worse than part one, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephy/pseuds/Ephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Someone captured a bird. He didn’t have any right to. Birds are </i>his<i> property.</i></p><p>‘Once upon a time’ are way too predictable. When a tale starts like this, you usually know how it’s going to end.<br/>I <i>hate</i> to be predictable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ball in the Pond

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [La Grenouille](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181400) by [Fyin (Ephy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephy/pseuds/Fyin)



‘Once upon a time’ _are way too predictable. When a tale starts like this, you usually know how it’s going to end._

 _I_ hate _to be predictable._

_Besides, finding the exact starting point of a story isn’t that easy. I could have dropped the whole Lex and Jason part. But if it had not happened… who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t be who I am today! (Wouldn’t that be dramatic?)_

_Moreover, let’s give ourselves some difficulty. To start like this would be_ way _too easy. The characters even fit! A young orphan adopted by the most important man in town… The true son, heir of the man’s fortune… Someone creeping in the dark who would like to catch his attention…_

_(But whose attention, exactly? The man’s, or the orphan’s?)_

_So no, no. In our dear, twisted Gotham reality, it started like this._

#### ***

Tim wasn’t exactly angry at Damian for being at Wayne manor. If nothing else, Tim was glad Bruce had the opportunity to have a son of his own blood. Not that that meant much in their family of orphans but… it still did, didn’t it? After all, one didn’t pick up so many lost boys looking like oneself if one didn’t want a child.

So it was great for Bruce. He had a real family now. Well. Except for Damian being Damian, of course.

And Tim felt bad for thinking as much – not the _Damian being Damian_ part, because, duh, it was true. But the real family part. Bruce deserved better than him thinking they weren’t father and son, even so soon after his adoption. Bruce had always been there for him, like he always had been for Dick and Jason.

That Dick became his lover and Jason had preferred to go live with a known supervillain were details. Bruce wasn’t very good at handling peoples, except when on the mission.

“Stop overthinking it”, Jason interrupted.

Tim startled out of his thoughts.

“I’m not…”

“You are. Even if you didn’t make a habit out of it, it’s written all over your face.”

Tim winced. Was he really? He knew he tended to concentrate on his thoughts more than on the people around him from time to time, but he wasn’t aware it had been noticed. He tried not to push it at Bruce level.

“Don’t worry, you’re not as bad as him. Yet.”

Apparently, there was a reason why Jason had been a Robin. Like the ability to read other birds’ minds.

But Tim already knew Jason had been worthy of the title.

“Bruce tries not to”, Tim still defended Bruce.

“But he is awful at communication. You’re much better at it than him when you put your head into it, duckling.”

Tim tried not to pout. He knew he was the little one but…

Except he wasn’t, anymore. Damian was.

“Aaand you’re back at it” Jason’s tone was starting to sound annoyed. “Can’t you just concentrate on the task at hand?”

Tim winced. Jason had worked the whole day at Lex’s offices and still came back to the Cave afterwards to help him on a case. They were trying to find The Spook, who had escaped from Arkham earlier that week. They had some leads but no confirmation on where he might be hiding. Batman was on the field looking for him. They had hoped to be able to help him by finding some clue but they didn’t have any luck so far.

Suddenly, Jason got up and walked away without a word. Tim blinked. Jason could be moody from time to time though he was usually quieter with Tim.

“Where do you think you are going, brat?”

Oh. Damian had tried to slip out. _Again_.

“Let me down, you shameful… ouch!”

Jason had slapped the kid, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Jason!” Tim protested.

“Don’t call names someone you can’t beat, brat.”

“He’s just a kid!”

Damian glared, ready to attack Tim for saying that truth out loud, but Jason’s grip was too good for him to slip away. Jason himself snorted.

“A kid who was trained by the League of shadows isn’t afraid of a slap. It’s not like I broke his arm.”

“You wouldn’t be able to!” Damian challenged.

Jason’s eyes shone dangerously. Damian looked ready to take the pain. Tim wished Dick hadn’t gone on patrol with Bruce; this was starting to take a wrong turn.

“You’re right”, Jason said, surprising both of them. “I wouldn’t. Because Bruce would have my head for doing that. Are you one to hide behind your father, pussy?”

Damian gasped with indignation.

“And apparently I should point out he’d like you to kill someone even _less_ ”, Jason commented.

Damian winced. Tim paled: Jason had hit a nerve. The child had really intended to kill someone!?

Damian smirked at his surprise.

(They sure were from the same family, considering how they were communicating more non-verbally than anything else.)

Then Jason moved and suddenly he was twisting Damian’s arm in a weird angle. The kid went white with pain but instead of screaming, he tried to break loose. Which only made him paler.

“Don’t be stupid. If you keep moving, you’re going to dislocate your own shoulder and I still wouldn’t let go.”

Something in Jason’s matter-of-fact tone convinced Damian, who froze. He looked like he was deciding something. As if, maybe Jason wasn’t as unworthy of his attention as he had thought before.

Tim totally understood why. Jason hadn’t Dick’s ability to do summersaults as easily as he breathed. However, the second Robin moved without a pause during fights. Besides, he _occupied_ the room he was standing in – much like a younger Bruce. Jason always looked like he led the dance, always acted decisively.

Tim knew his own capacities; he would never become a fighter like them. He envied their ease. But he could still help, as a detective assistant if anything else.

“Tim. Don’t think because I’m handling the brat I don’t hear you overthinking.”

If he could stop blushing, too, that would be great. Damian was smirking again which only made it worse. A jolt from Jason’s hand made him stop.

“Enough, the two of you. Brat, being the blood-son of Batman doesn’t make you anything in this house, you will have to prove yourself worthy. And to do that, you need to follow Batman’s rules, not the League’s. Tim, stop moping, you’re the best. Except for Alfred, of course.”

“Thank you, master Jason. I however hope you don’t intend to permanently damage anyone’s muscles.”

“I’m sure I won’t have to. Will I, Damian?”

The child made that sound at the back of his throat, that Jason seemed to consider a yes. He let him go – then immediately blocked the blade Damian materialized out of thin air by grabbing his wrist.

“Remind me not to let you near the katanas”, Jason said, like an afterthought while he was pushing the child’s arm down.

Damian tried to resist, but he didn’t have enough strength to do much against the teenager. He tried to kick him instead; Jason parried without much more effort. Behind them, Alfred was quietly putting some sandwiches and soup on a table for them to eat while waiting for Bruce’s return.

Tim tried not to grin. An ordinary day at the Batcave.

“Come on, you’ve got more than that to show”, Jason provoked.

Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea. Damian _did_ fight well; he obviously had had the best trainers in the world. And he aimed for the kill.

That didn’t seem to faze Jason. He kept dodging and mocking and giving well hidden advices.

“A bit short on the left. Still short, I hope you’re doing this on purpose so I’ll expect it to be short next time. Aw, really? You didn’t just try that on me, did you? Still sh… ah, better already. By the way, if I see you near Tim with this blade, I’ll put it up your ass.”

That last one had Damian trip on his own foot, though he managed to make it look like he had _meant_ to roll toward Jason to get at his ankles.

Tim took a sandwich and concentrated on his files. Those two would be doing fine on their own.

#### ***

Jason remembered only too well how easy it was to feel worthless in Bruce’s eyes. Not because Bruce didn’t give any attention but because someone else right there was getting more of it. He had had to compete with Dick – which had been a stupid move in the first place, considering.

Tim had to face Bruce’s own evil spawn. In a way, Jason was glad to help the both of them because, really, for all his nerve, Damian wasn’t much more self-assured. Maybe Dick hadn’t been, either.

However, Jason was _also_ glad to be able to get the hell out of there to be fucked out of his mind.

“Just tell me if I bore you”, Lex said at his ear, dangerous.

The teenager shuddered.

“Stop reading my mind and keep fucking me.”

Lex jerked his hips, just once.

“I can multitask. I would like _you_ not to.”

That was an easy one.

“Well then, obviously, you’re not putting yourself enough into this, because…”

Jason didn’t have to end his sentence. Or to think, for the next five minutes.

He felt much better afterwards.

“I hope your familial matters will be solved soon enough”, Lex said, annoyed. “You’re being distracted.”

“Then challenge me”, Jason answered, which was a proof all in itself on how distracted he was. “No! No, I didn’t mean that”, he corrected immediately.

Instead of answering, Lex ran his hand on Jason’s back. Had he been a cat, Jason would be purring. He settled for sighing with satisfaction instead.

If Bruce could see him right now… Well, his head would explode. But if he got over the fact that was Lex Luthor right next to him, he’d be surprised. Jason felt tame and didn’t even manage to be angry about it.

“You’re not fooling me”, Lex said in that velvet voice Jason loved to hear him use. “You’re not a cat.”

Jason didn’t feel like answering. That would require a constructed thought. And a working voice. Sounded way too complicated right now.

“You’ll always be too dangerous to be a pet. You might compare to a young panther who would have fancied staying next to someone.”

“’Never intended to become a lapdog, moron”, Jason mumbled. “Also, panthers have no reason to attack snakes. They’re ain’t crazy. Now keep complimenting me.”

Lex laughed softly, his hands still petting Jason’s back. That. Felt. Amazing. Especially considering how much his muscles ache – thank to the brat who, except for the size, wasn’t half a warrior – and his emotions had kept boiling for a good hour after he’d left the manor.

When Bruce had come back from patrol, Jason had had to talk to him about how Damian would try to bring back a head or something to prove his skill. Then, he’d had to explain Bruce _not_ to preventively put Damian in a cage or something.

How could the man that had been retrospectively so patient with him could be so abrupt with his own son, Jason didn’t get. Alright, maybe he would be pissed at Talia too if he’d learn she’d created some perfect heir out of a jar after raping him. But it wasn’t the brat’s fault.

“Bruce is a man full of contradictions”, Lex said.

Jason groaned.

“Stop doing that.”

“Be more specific.”

“Stop doing the mind-reading thing. It’s weird.”

He only ever felt that kind of connection with Bruce, and exclusively during missions. When their training would kick in, and their moves would be one, and Batman would stand with his cape around Robin, not needing to say _you did good_.

Not having that anymore still felt like missing an arm.

Lex’s lips pressed on his neck, right after the first cervical vertebrae. Apparently, this case of mind-reading had reached an alarming stage without Jason noticing.

He ought to feel worried about this happening with Superman’s Goddamn nemesis, but… It felt like… A drug, actually. Damn. He was a junkie. He’d sworn to himself never to be one when his mom overdosed, and here he was.

And having noticed this, he _still didn’t want to leave_. The case was terminal already.

“Talk”, Lex ordered, because he couldn’t ask anything like a normal person.

Shit, Jason hoped he didn’t _also_ get a major case of daddy issue, there.

“I can’t decide if you’re a drug or a disease. Which one do you prefer?”

“Which one can’t you get rid of?”

Jason hid his face into the pillow for Lex not to see his grin. That, _that_ was why Bruce could worry, Clark glare, Dick disapprove, all they wanted. Jason would still go back to Lex, again, and again, and again – however sugary it sounded.

#### ***

With Jason’s intervention, Tim had thought to reach some kind of understanding with Damian. They could ignore each other and just go on with their lives.

How wrong he had been. Damian had merely understood Tim wasn’t able to defend himself without Jason or Dick around.

“Can’t you even break loose?” the kid asked, tightening his grip.

Tim gritted his teeth, not answering. He couldn’t. Despite the need to prove himself and the blade he felt against his throat. If Jason ever learnt about this, Damian would never hear the end of it.

Tim sure wasn’t going to tell him. He had to earn Damian’s respect by himself.

“You can’t.” Damian sounded satisfied, arrogant even. “You are no warrior.”

“Our work doesn’t stop at fighting”, Tim protested, his mind racing to find a way out.

“One unable to defend himself isn’t worthy of a place at Batman’s side.”

Tim paled. How often hadn’t he thought exactly the same? But no. He wasn’t helpless. He didn’t put Bruce in danger. He _helped_.

“Even if you provide him with support, you cannot compensate for the additional work you give him”, Damian commented coldly. “You are inadequate, a weight on his shoulders.”

“I am not!”

The blade cut some superficial skin. Maybe Jason’s warning had been enough for Damian not to kill him. Maybe.

“If he had met _me_ , he would never had made _you_ Robin”, Damian insisted.

That’s when Tim realized it wasn’t about him or his skill at all. He relaxed very slightly, not trying to break free anymore. Damian wasn’t just a trained assassin; he also was a kid hoping to find his place.

“Bruce would have”, Tim said. “You are too young to be Robin.”

You are not ready, he didn’t add, because neither was he – though for different reasons. Tim wasn’t enough of a fighter. Damian wasn’t enough of everything else. The very fact that he didn’t noticed it or admitted it was the proof that he couldn’t be Robin yet.

“Even younger I am more able than you!”

“You are not”, Tim affirmed.

He felt Damian tense and braced himself. Tim wasn’t done, though. It was a hard truth to admit but he had to say it:

“You _will_ be.”

Damian relaxed at that, enough for Tim to roll away from him. The cut on his throat was superficial; he should be able to hide it. He hadn’t gotten anything else except for bruises and those were common enough not to be noticed.

(Like his father, Jack Drake, had never noticed how his son was wounded all the time.)

(Bruce wasn’t like Jack. Bruce cared.)

(Even Jack had cared.)

Suddenly, the blade was coming right at him. Tim barely had the time to dodge – and it still cut a lock of his hair.

“Todd is right”, Damian said, making his blade disappear in his clothes. “You should stop losing yourself in your thoughts. You lose sight of what is right in front of you.”

Tim’s heart was beating madly. The kid would have sliced him, had his reflexes not been good enough. He indeed had lost track of what was happening, hadn’t seen it coming at all.

How often had he put Batman into danger because he was doing just that? How often had Bruce had to look out for him because he was thinking about something else, even related to the mission?

Damian smirked, then walked away. He didn’t have to add anything else to this demonstration.

#### ***

Dick was the one to find the head. It was displayed in the middle of the Batcave, right under a spot. If nothing else, Damian knew how to make a point. Which did nothing for the issue at hand: the kid had killed someone.

He went to the mat where Damian was training, proud like a peacock behind a badly faked detachment. He didn’t even stop moving around when Dick reached him.

“Who is that?” Dick asked, controlling his anger.

“A criminal.”

“Did you not learn to answer accurately to a question?”

That comment made Damian pout. Which was a start.

“He’s the Bossu. I think you two had the opportunity to meet hence my assumption your question was rhetorical.”

“I know who he is. I want to know how much _you_ know about him.”

“I read his file. This computer really ought to have a better security. The current one is shameful.”

Dick pursed his lips. How to explain to the kid exactly how much what he did was horrible? Damian didn’t care what anyone thought about him, except maybe Bruce. But then why was he behaving like this when he had been told Bruce hated murder?

There probably wasn’t an answer to any of those questions. He would have to improvise – maybe by using the parents’ ultimate weapon.

“I am very disappointed in you, Damian”, Dick said.

It slid on Damian like oil on water. He merely did that disapproving noise at the back of his throat.

“I do not care about your opinion, Grayson.”

Dick should have known it would only work if you considered the person as a parent in the first place. Damian didn’t: he saw Dick more like an enemy, because he was his father’s lover.

Like all children of divorced parents, Damian hoped they would get back together so they could be a family. Which meant he didn’t accept Bruce’s family as it was right now. He couldn’t. If he did, he would have to give up on his fantasy.

“You might not. But you care about what Bruce think, don’t you?”

Damian didn’t answer, which meant ‘yes, but I am a proud little brat’. Good.

“You will also agree with me if I tell you I know Bruce and how he thinks, won’t you?”

“I guess you might have spent enough time living near him for your opinion to be relevant on the matter.”

One had to think very hard about it, but that was also a yes.

“Bruce is going to be disappointed in you when he will learn you have killed someone.”

Which wasn’t accurate. Bruce was going to be _angry_. Angry enough to hide how much this would affect him. Dick could see how he tried not to care about the child to make sure not to be hurt. He’d seen often enough Bruce push someone away for the very same reason.

Damian finally stopped working out.

“He would not! Thank to me, the Bossu will never harm anyone ever again!”

Dick fought back a sigh. Damian was a kid. Who had been thaught by the League of Shadows.

Damn Bruce who was going _not to_ handle this well.

“There are a lot of criminals in Gotham, right?” Dick didn’t stop, because Damian wasn’t stupid and didn’t need to confirm he agreed on _that_. “And a lot of them are in prison because Batman arrested them.”

The kid frowned.

“What is the point of this, Grayson? No need to make me lose my time.”

“Did you ever hear of anyone Batman would have killed?”

Damian stayed silent at this. Not because he was too proud to answer, nor because he didn’t want to be made a fool. He had just noticed the default in his reasoning and couldn’t put it together with what he’d been taught his whole life.

“You didn’t”, Dick continued mercilessly. “Because Batman doesn’t kill. Batman will never kill. Batman considers people who kill like murderers and puts them away in prison.”

The kid was standing there, face angry, fists clenched.

“Bruce”, Dick concluded, “will be disappointed in you.”

“ _He will not!_ ”

“He will. And you throwing a tantrum won’t change anything about it.” He let Damian rage for a second, before adding, “The right question is: what will?”

Now he had him. Damian didn’t want to admit he had caused any problem but he was nevertheless interested in a solution. Though he didn’t want it to be true, he knew Dick was right.

“First of all, you will have to admit you did wrong. No, listen”, Dick interrupted when Damian tried to protest. “You have to acknowledge Bruce’s rules are different from the League’s and that you broke one. You should apologize not to have realized it sooner and promise to follow them as long as you are under Bruce’s responsibility.”

It looked like explaining things with logic worked, thankfully. Dick felt sick to do it that way instead than simply by saying ‘killing is bad!’, especially to such a young kid. But he’d had training. Jason hadn’t been quite as bad, of course, but he had had a hard time understanding why he couldn’t punish bad guys himself. Not by killing them – just by being a little too rough on them.

Sometimes, it was hard to remember the line. For all of them. Which was why it had better to be a crystal-clear one, one they could not cross, ever.

“Bruce will be angry even if you do as much, rightly so. But if you prove you can follow this rule, with time, he will trust you and accept you at his side. Right now, it is hard for you. But you are strong. I am sure you will succeed.”

“Tt-tt. Of course I will. I don’t need you to tell me.”

The brat. Dick would have to apologize to Bruce. And to Alfred, Christ. It was horribly hard to be a parent.

“Start by putting the head away. This kind of display is unwelcome as is the pride that it demonstrates.”

Damian gloomed to the head to obey. Dick felt like making a dance of victory but decided against losing what little respect he had just earned.

And now that he had just managed to make a cake without using any eggs, only the hardest was left: to break the news to Bruce.

#### ***

“And now, he actually _killed_ someone! It wasn’t a slip, it wasn’t an accident. He consciously got out of the cave, tracked down a specific the criminal and killed him. It was a murder. I can’t even send him to Blackgate. He would get out in five minutes.”

Clark straightened his glasses on his nose.

“You don’t want to put your son in Blackgate, Bruce. He is too young anyway.”

“Of course I can’t. But you get the point.”

Clark sat down. Or did you say sat up? He wasn’t sure anymore. Everything felt a bit blurry. He glanced at his alarm clock on the nightstand.

“Can I help in any way in the five next hours, except by listening to you?” he asked.

“Not specifically, no. Why?”

“It’s 4AM, Bruce.”

Silence followed this declaration. Clark felt a nerve pulse at his temple. This wasn’t a stunned silence created by the realization of how early it was: Bruce was merely waiting for him to elaborate.

“Everyone isn’t a billionaire. I have to get up in”, Clark yawned, because calculus at this hour was just too much to take, even a simple subtraction, “two hours.”

“You don’t need more than three hours sleeps by night, considering the rate at which your body absorbs sunlight during the day then uses it during the night.”

Sometimes, it was hard to remember why Bruce was his friend, again. His body kept trying to scream how tired it was but the elaborated sentences were starting to wake his brain up – and his brain wasn’t happy about it.

“I need more sleep to be able to think straight and I got to bed past midnight because of that flood in Indonesia.”

“How did it go?”

“Fine! Now, may I go back to sleep?”

“Of course, I didn’t want to bother you.”

Temple pulsing II: resurrection. Clark was trying to decide if he wanted to send Bruce to hell or just bid him goodbye when he heard Dick asking in the background:

“B., do you know where Robin is? He said he would be back earlier today because he has this exam tomorrow…”

“He is still on patrol”, Bruce answered, already typing a few commands on the console to double-check. “His suit didn’t send any distress signal…”

There was a slight blank.

“Clark, I need to leave you there. Robin’s signal comes from a neighborhood he already went through an hour ago.”

Sleep had deserted Clark. He got up to grab his clothes.

“I’m coming.”

“I will handle this.”

“I’m coming”, Clark repeated.

Last time something had happened to Tim, he had let Bruce handle the matter and it had ended up being Lex’s fault. His best friend had been in pieces because of a villain _Clark_ should have taken care of. That all and ended up mostly well didn’t count.

This time, he didn’t care whose fault it was. He _would_ help before the issue became bigger.

Bruce seemed to understand because he didn’t protest any further.

“Alright. Meet me in Park Row.”

Clark didn’t wait to hear the phone tone. He superspeeded into his clothes and was soon flying toward Gotham. He wondered if Bruce had contacted Jason as well. If he hadn’t, Dick probably would.

Arriving over the city, he waited, flying around and trying to get Tim’s voice. The Batmobile parked before he heard anything. He landed beside it.

“So where does the signal come from?” he asked.

“A few streets over there.”

Clark nodded and followed. He was starting to get anxious and could hear by his heartbeat that so was Bruce. Probably Tim was just checking on something, or someone. Probably he wasn’t talking because he had nothing to say.

If the signal was moving that meant Tim was still out there. Robin’s suit would have picked any injury. He was alright. Surely.

“I’m calling Jason”, Clark heard Dick say in Bruce’s com. “He can monitor while I joint you on the field.”

“No real names on the com’, Nightwing. And negative. Kal and I cover enough ground. No need to worry Jay as long as we have nothing confirmed.” Then, after a hesitation, he added. “Keep an eye on D.”

“He isn’t disobeying again anytime soon.”

Dick’s tone was definitive. Good: they didn’t need an additional worry.

The conversation ended at this. They kept following the signal silently. Getting there only took minutes but when they arrived, the place was empty. And yet, the signal kept moving.

“Maybe he’s inside?” Clark suggested.

Bruce grunted. They went to the side of the building – then Clark froze. He’d just heard a noise. He left Batman’s side, carefully taking a few steps toward a few boxes left on the floor... A cat got out of it at the speed of light – but still not quick enough for Clark not to catch him.

“Ah! I’m sorry, Batman, I thought…”

He didn’t end his sentence. Robin’s mask was attached to the cat’s collar.

#### ***

Tim felt cold. His muscles hurt though he didn’t remember to have sprained anything during his last training session with Jason. But that had been yesterday, so maybe he’d been hurt during patrol today… He didn’t quite recall going back home.

Because he never made it home.

He managed not to open wide eyes at the realization. What was the last thing he remembered? He went back normally after school. Ate with Dick. Bruce had been leaving for Wayne Enterprise, for a meeting with Lucius. Tim and Dick had gone to patrol on their own. They had started together for fun, then had separated because Bruce’s absence meant they had more ground to cover.

Tim had thought about calling Jay but he, too, had some business to attend to and Tim hadn’t wanted to bother him.

Then… Nothing. Black.

He needed more details. He had been at the Bowery. Yes, Dick hadn’t wanted him in Park Row but Tim wouldn’t have left him all the worst neighborhood so that was it. He had landed on the casino’s rooftop, the highest one around – and that had been his mistake. That had been _predictable_.

He didn’t remember anything else after that. Whoever had captured him had been expecting him.

Tim shuddered. He should have been more careful! Especially after Luthor had pulled the exact same trick on Jason! He himself had been captured after school on his day-persona so at least he hadn’t made the same mistake twice himself, but still!

Bruce was going to be so worried.

His head hurt. His thoughts were blurry, coming one at once in an absolute disorder. He had to focus if he wanted to get out of there. To gather information. Who had abducted him this time?

There was noise. No. Music. An old tune, jazz or maybe blues? The sound’s quality wasn’t good, as if it was played on band instead than being numeric. Tim’s guess was on a tape.

He was on a bed or, at least, a matrass. Not perfectly fine either, he could feel springs pushing against the threadbare fabric. It would probably protest if he moved. It smelled of dust and… lavender? The scent was too strong to come from a generic washing powder. There must be a potpourri around, or maybe the sheet had been stocked in a closet where one had hanged.

The music’s didn’t resonate enough for a very big room, but still too well for a cell. Tim estimated it at about nine feet square, maximum.

He opened an eye. He had been wrong about the tape: a phonograph was displayed on a coffee table. The tablecloth was tasseled. And dark pink. Next to it, a big oak wardrobe was decorated with yellowed baseball posters.

This was the fifties.

Tim was used to Gotham’s villains. Anything kinky meant bad news. The mob wouldn’t have put him in a sitcom bedroom, which his brain should have picked up when it heard the music. His head was slowly clearing though; he felt less blurry already. His instinct kicking off helped.

Since he was alone, he sat up. The bedroom was furnished well enough, all in the same theme. There were even little planes hanging from the ceiling: one red, one white with little blue strips.

There was a window or, more precisely, a window frame. But only plain brick where the glass should have been. He probably was underground. Little note against the general mood, a vent was hidden in the up left corner. A small one: Tim’s arm would have fit but certainly not the rest of him.

He got up and waited for the world to stop stirring around him. His arms and feet felt heavy. How hard had been the drug that made him sleep? Chloroform wouldn’t have been efficient enough or it would have been used, Tim was sure. It fitted the theme.

He hesitated in front of the door. It was the only exit, which he didn’t like at all. On the other hand, it was the only exit.

He tried the handle. It was unlocked and opened with a creak.

“Are you awake, baby?” a shrieking voice asked from downstairs.

Tim felt his hair bristle on his head. He knew that voice and it meant bad news – no, it meant the worst possible, the insane, the oh-God-I’m-going-to-die kind of news.

The Joker.

“Come to join me, I’m preparing you a good meal!” the madman called, sneering.

Tim didn’t want to go. But he knew better than to disrupt the Joker’s plans even before knowing what they were. To be labeled a spoilsport without Batman around could well mean a death penalty. He might stay alive long enough to be saved if he played along.

The corridor’s ground was covered in velvet carpet. Old frames hung at the walls. Some presented pictures of himself but not as Robin – in his everyday life. A cold shiver ran down Tim’s spine. The Joker had been spying on him out of the suit. For how long had he known?

He got down the stairs, moving carefully. His head wasn’t hurting anymore but he felt woozy. The kitchen was opened on the living room. The Joker was waiting for him, wearing a white apron with red strips. He grinned at Tim.

“Here you are! Come here to help.”

“Joker.”

The madman brandished a wooden spoon covered in cream.

“This isn’t a way to call your dad!”

Tim blemished. His dad was dead, dead and buried. The Joker had no right…!

“You are not my father”, Tim said as calmly as he could, and the hell with going along with his insanity.

“Alright”, he was answered, surprisingly. “Your mom, then.”

“You are not my mother either!” Tim protested.

He shouldn’t have: the Joker got a Taser out of his apron’s front pocket and got him before Tim could move away. He screamed with pain and fall – this wasn’t a toy like the Joker used sometimes. It was real stuff!

The madman, of course, was laughing.

“Now, behave, son! In this house, we show respect to the wannabe parental figures.”

Tim swallowed and nodded nicely. It had hurt but not threateningly so. The Joker wanted to play with him, not to kill him. Tim had to make that state of mind last… Maybe he would get an opening at some point.

He got back on his feet, leaning against the wall not to fall back on his wobbly knees.

“So what do you say?” the Joker asked threateningly.

“I… am sorry?” Tim guessed.

“Good! Sit down, we’re going to eat!”

Tim sat. A second after, another electroshock made him fall from his chair.

“Wash your hands first, you boorish child!”

Of course, the rules would be changing or go untold until he would break them. Anything else wouldn’t be fun for the Joker. Tim would have to make some assumptions not to get another round of shocks.

While reasoning, Tim hurried to the sink and washed his hands thoroughly. He then went back to his chair – and got the wooden spoon in the face not to have risen to his feet when a lady was around. Which he should have guessed since the Joker wanted to be call mom.

After a few more smacks, dinner was served: biscuits and custard with cream. And nothing else.

Tim was then forced to eat using fork and knife and hustled for making too much crumbs. He still had to finish his plate entirely, despite the sickly sweetness of the food. Then there was dessert. And coffee with sugar. By the end of it, bruises were flourishing all over his arms, and a few more on his face.

Nothing severe, though. He had been right: the Joker wanted to play. He probably had something in mind. Tim would have to figure out what so he could get away from there.

He didn’t dare to fight back. He knew he wasn’t up to it. And what would the Joker do in front of such disrespect?

Tim hoped Bruce would find him _soon_.

#### ***

They had hoped to find something on the tracker but it came back clean. The cat was also monitored, just in case, with the same result. Barbara had checked all the street cameras around Robin’s usual patrolling route with no more results. Bruce double checked with no more success. Clark was listening at Gotham but couldn’t catch Tim’s voice.

It made them all very nervous.

“So Drake ran away”, Damian commented. “It only proves his inadequacy.”

Bruce rose from the console, a massive black mass exuding cold.

Damian didn’t look impressed.

“Fortunately I am here, father. You had no use for him anyway.”

Before Dick could intervene to calm the game down, Bruce grabbed Damian by the collar, lifting him from the ground.

“Was it you? Is _this_ was Talia was planning?”

Damian squealed. For all his strength and self-insurance, he was still a kid scolded by his father.

Dick felt sick.

“Bruce, enough!”

“Was. It. _You?_ ”

“No! I don’t need to have him away to prove myself!” Damian protested.

“ _Bruce!_ ”

He listened at last and put the kid back to the ground. Damian was livid despise his raised chin. Dick knew only too well the need to make the accusations stop, to be considered useful. To be wanted.

“Mother didn’t do anything to Drake either. She was going to Gibraltar. She most probably finished her business there a few days ago but she would have returned home.”

Bruce nodded, once, then went back to the console. Damian made a movement toward him but Dick stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

“But…”

Dick shook his head. He wanted to hug the kid. Damian sure looked like he needed it – like he had for some time already. But that would earn him a punch, at best, so he let go instead.

“Let’s go upstairs”, he said. He would have to talk with Bruce, as well, but – later. “We both need some air.”

“I am feeling perfectly fine.”

Damian still followed him. He looked thoughtful. Dick hoped this hadn’t been too much; the kid was only at the manor because he wanted to. Talia had dropped him on them so Bruce would be distracted from her most important business – and it worked. If Damian decided he wanted to go back to his mother, she’d welcome him.

And make him even more of a leaguer. Dick couldn’t stand the thought of Bruce’s kid being turned into a little assassin. Or _any_ kid. Damian deserved better.

Dick took him to the kitchen. The place had always meant warmth to him. This was where then went _after_ , when things were back to normal, no crisis was ongoing and they could take some rest.

He opened the fridge and put some milk on the fire, then started looking for honey.

“I followed his rules”, Damian said a few minutes. “He still doesn’t trust me.”

“Bruce isn’t a very trusting person”, Dick admitted easily. “It took him months before he started relaxing around me.”

“You are not of his blood.”

Dick found the honey, added it to the shuddering milk.

“Even it takes half as much with you, it’s still more time than you’ve been around. Don’t forget that if you knew about him, he had never heard of you. Besides, you didn’t follow the rules from the beginning. I told you that would make it longer.”

Damian bit his lips. Dick took two mugs from the cupboard and filled them. The kid looked dumbfounded when he put one in his hands.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“Obviously, Grayson, it just came out of the fire.”

Then he carefully blew on it.

Dick smiled. The kid was _cute_. Somehow.

“Father looked… frustrated”, Damian said in a little voice.

Frustrated. Right. More depressed to the point of the darkest rage. But Damian didn’t need to hear his father was actually not all-powerful.

“He is”, Dick confirmed. “It’s always hard when family is hurt.”

Damian made a disapproving noise – clearly, he didn’t consider Tim as family – then drank a sip. He let go a pleased sigh. All kids liked sugar, even the brattiest ones.

“Consider this a probation”, Dick said. “You have to keep behaving despites his mistrust. That will earn you points.”

Damian nodded.

Well, maybe Dick could push a bit further.

“ _And_ you could try to understand why Bruce is so affected. _Tim_ is his adoptive son. He got enough of his trust to become Robin. If you studied how he managed, that would give you some tips.”

#### ***

The phone hit the wall at optimal velocity, smashing its screen into pieces. That didn’t satisfy Jason enough, so he walked to it and kicked it a few times. Satisfaction still didn’t hit but, at least, he had spent some of his rage.

“So. I guess the one who is _gone_ isn’t the brat?” Lex asked, half hoping.

Jason blinked at him. His eyes weren’t wet because he wasn’t sad because nothing had happened yet.

“Tim is missing”, he confirmed. “He disappeared during patrol yesterday. _Yesterday_ ”, he insisted. “And they’re telling me this _now_!”

How stupid were they? He could have _helped_! The first few hours were the most crucial when someone went missing, one of them like any other human being! The abductor was more likely to play with his prey before killing it, which gave them time to find clues, to find a lead, a witness, _something_!

And they had spoiled those most precious hours by going at it with reduced workforce!

Lex went to his desk, frowning slightly. And picked up the phone.

What the hell? Didn’t he just hear what Jason had said? _Tim was missing_. Tim. Adorable, sunny, kind Tim who made them proud by wearing Robin’s costume.

“Mercy? Get four teams together. We have someone missing and I want him back today.”

Jason blinked. Lex was putting his men to the task? Like, the military-trained thugs he usually used to impress fellow supervillains and politicians? Talk about a taskforce. However…

“Wait a minute”, Jason interrupted. “You can’t send an army into Gotham’s streets. If whoever got Tim realizes they are after him…”

Lex raised his eyebrows.

“Apparently, I have to point you out not to be obvious”, he said to Mercy on the phone.

Jason swallowed. Mercy would make him pay for this during next training – which would start at any time of the day or the night and last as long as she felt like it.

Therefore, _he_ was going to make _Lex_ pay for having told her.

But only after he’d put his men to the task.

Jason listened to him giving more instructions. Lex’s orders were specific, resolute; it almost felt like everything was going to be alright just by listening to him.

That was a stupid reaction. Bruce wasn’t much less intelligent and knew Gotham better. He would work himself to exhaustion as long as Tim wasn’t found. He would ask _Clark_ to help, this time – because if he didn’t, Jason was going to… scream his rage at him or something. Dick would ask the _Titans_.

And Bruce was going to allow all those people to come in his city to find his son because Tim didn’t deserve anything less. And people would come because, come on, it was Tim!

Yet, it was Lex’s decisive action which were calming Jason down at last.

When Lex hand up the phone, Jason was ready.

“Where can I help?”

“Come over here.”

“Lex. Where can I help? You know I’m good. Use me.”

Lex shook his head.

“You are too close to this.”

“ _He is my damn brother of course I am!_ Now stop treating me like someone inept and tell me how I can help.”

Lex didn’t waste time protesting any further.

“Mercy is very efficient but you know Gotham the best. Be at her disposition if she has any question. Of course, things would be easier if we coordinate with Bruce, but…”

Jason grabbed his jacket.

“I’ll convince him.”

He stopped before reaching the door to go back to Lex. He gripped his collar to force him down and devoured his mouth for a solid minute.

Then one more.

They were both panting when Jason let go. Lex had a satisfied smile entirely uncalled-for. Jason had to bite his lips to make him pay. Then to kiss him again, because, hell, he wanted to.

Then to finally get a step back before they’d start fucking on the desk. Again.

“I’m going. I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting for you”, Lex said nonchalantly.

While waiting for the elevator to reach the ground floor, Jason tried to calm his heartbeat. Then, he stole one of Lex’s cars and distracted himself by thinking about how to convince Bruce to let a supervillain help him. That was going to be tricky.

Bruce hated to admit needing help, never mind from someone he didn’t like nor trusted. Jason knew the feeling: he was exactly like that himself. However, once again, this was for Tim. Tim deserved an exception.

He parked on the gravel and jumped over the steps to reach the entrance. He didn’t need Alfred’s help to open the door but still rang and waited politely for him to arrive. Thankfully, it didn’t last long: he hadn’t been in the cave.

“Where is he?”

“Good afternoon, master Jason. I am afraid master Bruce is downstairs, along with master Dick and Mr Kent.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not yet.”

Jason nodded. He left his jacket to Alfred before going to the library, then past the clock. Bruce was indeed sitting at the console, looking pale but determined.

“Lex is looking for him too”, Jason said point-blank.

Dick gasped; Clark looked dumbfounded. Bruce didn’t even stop typing.

“Graves is coordinating the teams. They would be more efficient with your help. _We_ would be more efficient, putting everyone’s efforts together.”

“This doesn’t concern Luthor.”

Jason wanted to punch him in the face. Instead, he waited for Dick to put a hand on him arm – see? He was learning patience!

“I don’t trust him either”, Dick said.

No answer. Dick glanced up at Clark, who shook his head briefly. Then all the attention went back to Bruce. They were waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Jason was going to throw a damn _nuke_ to this place if they kept waiting for one more fucking…

“She would have to follow my directions”, Bruce said abruptly.

Dick’s whole face brightened with hope. Jason just nodded.

“She will.”

There would be time for smiles when they would have Tim safely back among them.

#### ***

There was a gorilla in the living room. Definitively a male, though he had on the apron the Joker had been wearing the first time Tim had awoke. And it was dusting. With a yellow feather duster. It also wore makeup and its nails had been painted in red.

Tim didn’t dare to point it out to the Joker.

He had had to change and had found clothes in the cupboard – his exact size. Thankfully, they weren’t colored strangely, though they were in theme: he had had to put braces with his pants.

He would have preferred ugly clothes and better food, though.

“Why are you pulling a face now? I cooked the whole day for you, you ungrateful twit!”

“I am sorry”, Tim answered quickly. Past the first meeting, the Joker had not insisted on being called dad or mom. “It’s really good! A bit… sugary. But delicious!”

“You eat your sugar or you’ll be forbidden to go out!”

The Joker found himself so funny, Tim thought, depressed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like sweets: he did… up to a point. He was starting to crave for meat and vegetables. Moreover, sugar and cream wouldn’t provide enough for long.

The Joker still hadn’t talked about his plan nor even mentioned Batman, which was out of character.

Tim ate silently for a while, thinking. Then he dared:

“May I ask a question?”

“Of course, butternuts! What would you like to know?”

Tim didn’t swallow, which was a start.

“I would like to know how I can please you most”, he said at last, choosing his words carefully.

“By keeping me company of course!”

That was… bad wasn’t the word. Did he meant he wanted Tim to stay there _forever_? That was insane! Then again, the Joker wasn’t known for his sense of proportion.

“I am, am I not?”

“Yes you are indeed, baby-birdie.”

The Joker was grinning. Tim couldn’t miss this opportunity: if the topic changed now, he might never want to talk about it again.

“I would have thought you’d prefer someone else’s company”, Tim tried. “You do like birds, of course, but they are not your favorite playmates.”

There; that should do it.

“Aw, don’t worry, hon’. It’s you I want. I can’t let others have all the fun, can I?”

Tim’s eyes widened. That was a reference to Jason’s abduction, certainly. Which meant the Joker was jealous of Luthor’s idea to kidnap a Robin.

Which meant he wanted to do _worse_.

This time, Tim couldn’t help but to swallow. He was terrified. He fought the fear not to be overwhelmed. He had trained to handle situations like this, he was not going to shame Bruce!

“Certainly Robin should be at Batman’s side, though, shouldn’t he?” Tim tried.

The Joker laughed at that.

“Aw, no, silly! Robins are made to make Batman _sad_! They’re to be kidnapped and tortured!”

Ice slid in Tim’s stomach.

The Joker had seen in which state Bruce had been when Jason then Tim disappeared. He took Luthor’s success at tormenting him as a blow to his pride. Now he _had_ to do better, so either to hurt him more or to keep him longer.

“But with no Robin, there wouldn’t be anyone left for you to torture Batman”, Tim protested weakly.

The Joker shrugged.

“He’s good at finding new ones.” Then he smiled again, vicious. “Yes, baby of mine. He has been so good, he managed to find _you_.”

Tim didn’t answer. He couldn’t: the terror had made his breath too short for him to say anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here it is! This chapter is still quite okay but I'm not kidding when I say things will be getting worse in the following ones.  
> And as I said previously, this part won't be Jason-centric anymore. I think you can guess who's the new star... (Actually, no, it's not Damian)  
> Except for that, we still got a bit of Son of Batman in here and I think this is going to be the end of me following anything near the comics' timelines in this part. We've successfully diverged! :)


	2. Plops cause Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the warnings start to make sense.

Tim was waiting for the evening, trembling with fear. The Joker always came back for dinner with new candies, which meant he would realize Tim had disobeyed a direct order.

He really wasn’t eager to find out what his punishment would be.

This had started because Tim had wanted to find the exit. During the night – or so the Joker called that moment of the day: he had no way to know for sure that the clocks on the kitchen wall showed the real hour form outside – he was locked in his room. The rest of the day, however, he could go around freely.

Except in the living room.

The first floor counted a corridor, three bedrooms – his, the gorilla’s and the one the Joker pretended to be his, though he’d never slept in it as far as Tim knew – a bathroom and a little office. None of those rooms had a window or any other opening to the outside. Tim had even moved the furniture away from the wall and still hadn’t found anything, except hidden cameras he hadn’t dared to touch.

Then there were the stairs, the hall where a fake door was painted on the wall, a cupboard and the door going to the living room and the kitchen. The one the Joker locked whenever he left.

The easy deduction was that the exit was over there.

So Tim had taken a look to the living room’s door. He didn’t have any tools – his utility belt had already been missing when he had first woken up – and the wooden panel hid metal: the door was reinforced. He still had tried to force it open.

He had only managed to get himself electrocuted because _of course_ it was trapped.

When he had come back to his sense, he had realized the shocks weren’t the real problem: glue had spurted from the door while he’d fell, sticking him effectively to the ground.

And now, he had to wait for the Joker without being able to get away from the damn door.

Noise came from the other side of the door. Steps. He was back. He was smiling, Tim was sure. He probably knew what happened already because no one trapped a door so effectively without it to triggering an alarm somewhere. It had been _hours_ ago but the Joker would have loved to know he was there, waiting for him to come back, hoping he would not.

Tim was sure he had watched him being scared. That would be like him, wouldn’t it? And he did have cameras everywhere but on his own bedroom.

Thinking didn’t calm the fear down at all.

“Birdie”, the Joker called from the other side. “Are you ready for mommy?”

Tim shuddered, not daring to answer. The steps came closer. A key was put in the lock, which unbolted. Then the door creaked open.

The Joker was grinning.

Tim tried to move away, but couldn’t, of course. Maybe he _should_ have removed his clothes and left them there to lock himself in his room. He would also have left some skin behind but that suddenly seemed secondary.

“Now, now, what did you do? I am _very_ disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry! I was hungry”, Tim lied. “I just wanted to grab something to eat!”

The Joker blinked.

“You should have told me so, kiddo. I would have brought you something! Instead, you tried to break the door and now the floor is a real mess.”

“I will clean everything, I promise!”

The Joker leaned toward him, looking dubious. Then he smiled, which only made it worse.

“Alright then. I’ll give you something to clean up.”

Tim paled. From anyone else, this affirmation would be reassuring but nothing the Joker said ever reassured anyone.

The madman went away whistling. After some time, he came back with a sponge and a bucket.

“Here you go! Make it all go away before dinner or you’ll do without, though. I’m not keeping anything warm for a bad-mannered child.”

Tim looked him go back to the kitchen, then struggled to get free. Being on the back, he didn’t manage to get enough speed to snatch his clothes from the ground: he really had to get out of them. His left arm was glued though, impossible to move it enough to undress. He either had to free his arm first or to cut the clothes off.

He wasn’t sure asking the Joker for a blade was a good idea. On the other hand, taking his arm off the ground was going to be tricky, even if he accepted the idea to lose some skin on this. Tim tried to pull, which hurt like hell. He couldn’t reach the sponge from where he was. Besides, that kind of glue could only be cleaned with dissolvent. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have any on his arm.

He only had a few minutes before supper was ready. He had to hurry.

“My dearest”, he called softly. “I know I have been a bad child, but may I ask for one last tool in order to make the place all beautiful like you like it?”

“Of course!” The Joker answered. “What do you need?”

“A pair of scissors, if you will let me.”

“But you might hurt yourself! No, no, no. No way.”

“But my clothes are glued, I can’t clean like that! I need to get out of them.”

“Alright”, the Joker agreed. “I’ll cut them for you.”

And that’s what Tim had been afraid of. On the other hand, he wouldn’t be cooking dinner at the same time?

The Joker arrived with a big smile. And a butcher knife.

Tim fought back a terrified moan.

“Come on now, don’t move. This is delicate work.”

Tim didn’t even dare to blink. The knife’s blade slid against his chest, between his shirt’s tails. A quick movement of the wrist, and the first button was cut out. Tim’s body wanted to shudder, but he couldn’t, if he did so too much…

The blade slid down – snip, another button – then down – snip, snip, snip – and the shirt was open. Tim took a breath. So far, so good.

Instead than going back up for the sleeves, the Joker let the blade slid on one side to snip the first brace then, slowly, on the other side – snip. The knife went back at the center, right below his navel.

Tim’s heart was racing. One movement and his bowels would cover the floor. The Joker was a good fighter with any weapon but knives were is best ones. He could gut and cut and stick anyone with elegance, while dancing the waltz.

The blade threaded its way under his waistband, under the fabric of his pants, cold against his skin. Tim trembled; he couldn’t help it. The Joker smiled, mean and satisfied. For a second, Tim thought that was it.

Then the blade cut the fabric with a _creek_.

Tim realized he had started to pant at some point. He focused to calm his breathing. Everything was fine. The Joker was only cutting his clothes off. Alright, even when he tried to relativize it sounded creepy at best.

The blade caressed his skin, getting his attention back to it. It was lacerating the fabric, down his right leg, point down. It didn’t quite cut his skin but still scratched it in retaliation for his lack of assiduity. Tim bit his lower lip.

The blade reached the end of the leg after what felt like an eternity. Then, deliberately, it slid against his skin back up to his waist – only to take care of the other leg, just as slowly.

It was almost done. His right arm hadn’t been caught in the blast and was already free, which was why Tim had asked for scissor in the first place: he would have been able to cut his other limbs free without too much contortions. His left arm, though, was glued well enough. He had rolled his sleeves neatly because he had been a bit hot so his forearm’s skin was stuck directly to the ground.

The Joker didn’t waste time for that one. He just gripped Tim’s collar with one hand and cut the sleeve open properly, not touching the skin anymore, as if suddenly bored.

“Here we are!” he declared. “Now I hope you’re ready to scrub!

Tim got out of his torn clothes, feeling silly in shoes, socks and underwear. His left arm still glued, he managed to kneel and grab the sponge and the bucket. As he had thought, it didn’t contain water but a greenish substance most often seen in cartoons than in real life.

That’s when he realized he didn’t have gloves.

He glanced at the Joker, busy in the kitchen. He had done this on purpose. Of course he had. Well, he could still ask for something more.

“May I have gloves?”

“You need help for this, you need help for that”, the Joker pouted. “Will you ask me to clean your mess so you don’t have to?”

That was a warning: clean or I’ll find worse. But still… Tim really didn’t want to put his hand in _that_. At least the thing was cold. He dropped the sponge in it. It didn’t seem to melt. So at least it didn’t attack synthetic fabrics. Right. Tim felt dubious. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

He tried to put just the tip of a finger in the unidentified green fluid. It sting but not overwhelmingly so. Tim sighed and took the sponge to start scrubbing the floor. He started far from his glued arm, to check if his other hand didn’t start to hurt after a while.

Since it didn’t, he decided he needed more mobility and carefully cleaned around his immobilized limb, then detached it little by little. It hurt: the skin was well taken into the glue, he had to leave some superficial skin behind. He wished he had some disinfectant and just hoped the product given by the Joker wasn’t _too_ toxic.

Of course, he was still busy when the Joker called him for dinner.

“It’s ready! Aw, and you are not done. No dinner for bad children!”

“I am sorry”, Tim said, not really hungry if it meant more candies anyway. He hoped he _would_ get something else to eat soon. “May I prepare for the night, then?”

“Shower first”, the Joker answered, pouting. “And don’t try to go to bed as long as you’re not all neat! I will check!”

Tim didn’t wait for him to change his mind and hurried to the first floor. His stomach was growling, wanting something substantial to digest. He felt tired and hyperaware both with all this sugar. Maybe tomorrow he’ll try to convince the Joker to give him some bread, at least…

He removed what little clothes he had left and entered the shower, turning the water on – then yelped. It stung! And the water was green. It was, Tim realized, the same fluid he had used to clean the floor! His first movement was to get out of the shower, then he remembered what the Joker had said. He would check.

This was his punishment for disobeying.

Tim trembled at the idea of what this could do to him. Then trembled even more because of what the whole situation could do to him, if it kept going. Where was Bruce? Or Dick? Or Jason? Or even Lex Luthor? He needed to get out of there, and _soon_. He had never felt that threatened when he had been abducted by Luthor. On the contrary: he had been nervous about his freedom but never feared to be hurt.

Now… Now, every day was a mystery, and no news was a good one.

Tim took a deep breath and started cleaning. He had to be patient. Someone would be there to save him, very soon.

#### ***

“We still don’t have any idea where Tim is or even who kidnapped him.”

Bruce’s sentence echoed in the Batcave. Jason felt helpless, a sensation he never liked and wasn’t used to feel anymore. He could handle himself, he could fight super-powered villains, he could even handle Lex’s damn _accounting_.

He should be able to find his missing brother.

But he failed to do so, even with Mercy’s help, Lex’s resources and Bruce’s brain. Everyone had been put to the task and what they found was – nothing. Which actually meant a lot, because not so many people were able to mess with Batman in Batman’s own town. But knowing as much wasn’t enough: they had too many enemies. Moreover, a simple thug might have gotten lucky. Though it was unlikely, Tim could be dead since the beginning instead than missing and his murdered having played with their heads by putting his tracker on a cat. Or this could be a new foe entirely.

The point being, they had no idea of what happened. That was driving Jason crazy.

And not only Jason. Bruce was brooding, Dick had lost his smile and Damian was smirking. The brat. Jason only managed to do so much not to smack his smug face. Which got him wondering how Bruce had stood _himself_ for so long when he was a teenager. Not that Jason wasn’t anymore, just, he didn’t live there anymore, and Lex wasn’t exactly the average kind of guy.

Anyway. Damian’s mood affected Bruce as well, which was otherwise dangerous and made him even harsher. Even Dick seemed to lose his patience more often than he should.

“The volunteer are starting to tire”, Bruce continued. “We might have to start considering Tim as possibly dead.”

Damian’s smile widened. Jason jumped on his feet.

“You’re kidding me, ain’t you? He was _possibly dead_ since the beginning, no one will stop looking!”

“Jason”, Dick tried.

“Do not ‘Jason’ me! He might still be alive! It’s only been a month!”

A month was forever, in abducting cases, he knew. Most people would be dead. But Tim wasn’t most people, Tim was _Robin_ and Tim was _his brother_ and even if he _was_ dead, Jason would find out who did this so he could fucking _end him_.

“We aren’t stopping”, Bruce confirmed. “But we will keep going by ourselves. The League and the Titans cannot afford to provide help for much longer.”

“Fine”, Jason spat. “I don’t care. We will still find him.”

“We will. Nightwing and I. You might want to go back to Metropolis.”

Damian was positively glowing. Jason didn’t have time to loose with his puerility, though. He had enough to handle with his father’s.

“Say that again”, he answered, his tone dangerous.

“What Bruce is trying to say isn’t that he thinks you will leave”, Dick translated, “but that he thinks you should.”

“Why would I possibly stop helping?”

“I want one of my sons safe.”

The smile dropped from Damian’s face. Even Jason couldn’t pretend not to be affected by Bruce’s sudden declaration. It meant, all together, that he was still his son – the dude _was_ masochist –, that he cared about him and that he felt Jason would be safe with Lex.

“I can defend myself, you know”, Jason pointed out anyway, but in a non-belligerent tone.

“I know. I don’t pretend to always be rational.”

Dick put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, soppily supportive. Well, since it was one of the first times Jason heard Bruce say something outright, maybe he was right to be.

Which was the only reason why he stopped to consider this. Bruce had let him go back to Lex while he hated him, even though he thought it was a horrible idea, just because Jason asked him to. Maybe he should reciprocate.

And maybe pigs would learn to fly, someday.

“I’m staying”, Jason said. “I’ll help from the cave if you want, I know you’re not comfortable about me being on the roofs. For your information, neither is Lex. But I’m not leaving Gotham without any lead about Tim.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged a glance. ‘I told you so’, didn’t-say Dick. ‘I still had to try’, didn’t-answer Bruce.

Damian wrinkled his nose, unable to follow the silent conversation. The brat had a lot to learn yet.

“You will be on console duty from now on”, Bruce confirmed. “I will keep investigating on Tim’s abduction full time while Dick handles Gotham’s everyday crime. I will still be his backup if needed, of course.”

They had talked about this before bringing it to him, Jason realized. Well. They were partners in real life too, now, after all. Parents often did shit like this to their children.

“Should I call you mom?” he asked to Dick.

“Jackass. And I, too, can handle myself, Bruce.”

“I know.”

“Jackass it is, then”, Jason noted.

Dick tried to glare, but his eyes were sparkling. At last! Without Tim there to do the job, Jason was a poor replacement. He hadn’t even been good at this when he had _been_ Robin. Now, it felt contrived. But hey, someone had to try – and _Damian_ sure wasn’t up to the task, however much he wanted to be Robin himself. Despite his skill he was still way too young and didn’t understand what the title meant at all. For the moment.

It would have been great to see him learn by watching Tim, Jason thought with a twinge of regret. Then he realized he had just thought that like Tim _was_ dead and felt angry at himself. As long as they didn’t have proof, he was alive, and that was the end of it.

“If you stay in the cave for long, people will wonder what happened to Batman”, Jason pointed out, trying to fool his own thoughts.

“Dick will be there.”

“Nightwing isn’t the same.”

“I didn’t mean he would be as Nightwing.”

Dick’s eyes widened. Ah, so they still weren’t at their best as far as communication was concerned.

“What? No!” he said.

Then Jason saw the realization hit Damian as well. The brat didn’t say anything – he was starting to know better – but the incredulity on his face said a story all by itself. Jason smirked.

“I am not wearing the cowl!” Dick protested. “I’m not Batman and I will never be.”

“I’m not asking you to be Batman.”

“Yes, you are!”

Jason grabbed the brat’s arm and dragged him to the stairs.

“Let’s leave them alone.”

“You shall not order me around!” Damian protested.

“Do you _want_ to see how they’re going to settle the problem?”

Damian’s mouth clapped shut. Everyone knew Bruce and Dick were together because everyone had stumbled upon them fucking at some point, sometimes ‘in the most incongruous places’ as Alfred had put it. Like the Batmobile. Or Bruce’s desk at the manor. Or Clark’s bed at the JLA – Jason was still trying to get the footage of that one, just to see Clark’s face when he’d realize. And maybe to find out how that had started exactly, too.

“I thought so. Let’s train a bit in the garden, okay?”

Damian didn’t quite brighten – he was above things as plebian as showing his emotions – but had a mean smirk.

“Prepare to be vanquished, Todd.”

“Yeah, yeah, I like you too, little brother.”

Thankfully, they already had reached the library when Jason said that because Damian froze. Jason closed the wall with the clock. This needed to be a private conversation.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you going to protest or what?”

Damian frowned.

“I don’t need to. You know we are not of the same blood.”

“But you are of Bruce’s, aren’t you, dimwit?” Jason mocked. “And he adopted me, so we’re brothers. I didn’t take the name because Jason Wayne sounded conceit.”

He thought Damian would have known as much but, from the face he was pulling, the kid hadn’t realized him being adopted by Bruce meant they were from the same family. Of course, that only lasted for a second: Damian wouldn’t get caught surprised if he found Santa Claus robbing the kitchen on Easter Eve.

“I knew that!” he said.

“Of course you did.” Jason tousled his hair. “So. You, me, fighting outside?”

“I can take you anytime!”

Jason grinned.

“Then prove it.”

The brat jumped, ready to kick his ass or die trying. Jason dodged to grip him by the back of his collar.

“Not inside, we would make Alfred sad. Come on, to the gardens!”

He ignored the brat’s mutters in Arabic, most probably insults he wasn’t meant to understand anyway, and dragged him along. The kid still had a lot to learn, he’d thought earlier. It was time to start teaching him.

#### ***

Tim was cleaning his hands, and his face, and _everything_ but it wasn’t going away. He had woke up in the morning with white spots on his skin. There were everywhere but especially on his hands and shoulders. He wasn’t supposed to shower in the morning so he had had to wait the evening to finally wash it away. He had felt it scratch the whole day, though that probably was his imagination.

But still, his skin had _white spots_. It was becoming white, porcelain white!

This was because of the green product.

Objectively, Tim knew it only had attacked his skin superficially. Scrubbing it wouldn’t accelerate the process, it just had to grow and it would be back in his original state. But he couldn’t help himself: he had to make it go away. He had to, because he knew what that perfectly white skin looked like and he didn’t want it, he couldn’t possibly tolerate it.

This product had to be the one the Joker drowned into. The one that made him the Joker in the first place.

But it hadn’t been boiling when Tim had touched it, Tim tried to rationalize. And he didn’t drowned in it. It was superficial, surely. More than surely. It was. The Joker was just playing with his head.

Tim swallowed. He had to make ready for bedtime or he would be labeled as a bad child again. If that meant more showering in this… No. Just… no. He couldn’t take it.

He still kept scrubbing until the Joker called.

“Are you ready?”

“I need one more minute, if I might?”

“Alright, but no more than a one!”

Tim closed his eyes. When he opened them, he still was in the silly 50th-like bathroom and his hands were still white. He took a deep breath, thought about his training, Bruce, his brothers, even that little rat of Damian, and started dressing for the night.

A minute later, he was in his bedroom. The Joker was waiting.

“Nice little boy! Shall we read some book before sleeping tonight?”

“I would like that”, Tim admitted.

Not that he enjoyed any tale the Joker would tell, but he was bored. Even time spent with _him_ was better than time spent alone with his own thought.

Which was much more dangerous to think than when it had been Luthor. But Tim couldn’t help it: his thought were circling around, needing information to process, needing _anything_ to occupy them. He didn’t deal well with having nothing at all to do.

“Very well. Manacles first.”

Tim pulled a face but laid down. The Joker bound his wrists at the head of the bed. That rule had been established the other day when Tim had tried to get in the living room while the Joker was away. Another had been the disappearing of the cleaning gorilla: his bedroom was still there but it had disappeared from view.

“Here, all settled. You ready?”

Tim nodded.

“Once upon a time, there was a man with a big mouth and a man with big eyes. They both had a garden. It was important, then, you see? Because they needed it to grow candies!”

The Joker actually had a book, with images in it. He showed them to Tim like at a little boy.

“Here came a demon, who proposed them to make a deal”, the Joker kept reading. Or inventing, Tim wasn’t sure. “’No way’, the man with the big eyes said. ‘Sure, let’s make that deal’, the man with the big mouth said.”

Why could he not read something normal? Like, the last discoveries in any science field? No, it had to be a tale. And Tim was sure it wouldn’t end well.

“The man with a big mouth grew a wonderful garden, full of candies trees. The man with the big eyes was hungry because he was very poor and had no sugar to eat.”

The Joker showed him images again. There were indeed two characters on the book. Tim wondered where it came from. It wasn’t written in English, he realized. It titled “Velkooký, Velkoústý”, which seemed to come from Eastern Europe. But which country? And could the Joker read it or was he inventing?

“The man with a big mouth had much fun. He ate sugar every day and enjoyed himself. Then his garden started dying. He didn’t see it, because he was eating and eating and eating! But the garden died. So the man with a big mouth cried, because it wouldn’t grow up again. And he said ‘I shouldn’t have made a deal with the demon!’ What do you think happened to the other man, Timmie?”

Tim winced. He didn’t really want to participate to this. But well, he had asked for it, really.

“He managed to grow his own garden now that the demon is gone?” he guessed, knowing that wasn’t the correct answer.

“No!” The Joker said, unsurprisingly. “The man with big eyes dies from hunger. He was crying too, saying ‘I should have made a deal with the demon!’ The end! So what do you think? Did you enjoy it?”

There was only one answer to that.

“Yes, I did. Thank you for reading it to me.”

“I’m glad you did! We should do this again, sometime. Sleep well now, baby one.”

He turned off the light and left, leaving Tim alone in the dark.

#### ***

Tim woke up with a punch to the face. He gasped, tried to block the next one – the remembered he was tied to his bed. Panicking, he kicked his blankets away, hoping to shield himself with his legs.

Then he realized the thug who hit him was wearing Batman’s mask.

He froze. That was of course a bad idea: he got a second punch to the stomach, which took all air from his lungs, then another in the face, on the other cheek. It wasn’t Bruce, of course. He didn’t punch half strong enough, for a start. But still… To see his mask used in such a way… It made Tim sick.

Then he was hit in the stomach again, and remembered there were more important things to handle right now. He tried to kick his enemy off him but, while lying, he lacked speed to make his blows effective. They still annoyed the guy who tried to hit his legs to make him stop. Tim only tried harder.

The guy backed up for a second, looking around. He saw something on the desk’s chair where Tim had left his clothes after changing for the night and grabbed it.

The braces.

“Stop!” Tim tried, struggling. “Please, stop!”

He kicked and begged, but the thug didn’t stop. He caught his legs, one then the other, and tied them together so he couldn’t move anymore. Then, he smirked, looking at him. Tim felt so helpless and scared, and angry at himself. He should have found a way to get him! Dick would have; Jason would have. They wouldn’t cry on their failures. And yet, he felt his eyes watering with tears.

The man slapped him on the face. Grabbing his hair, he put his head back straight, then slapped again. And again. And again. Tim was crying now. He knew this would go on until the man was tired of it, and he couldn’t do anything to stop him.

He was right.

#### ***

A noise waked him. It took a few seconds for Tim to realize it was someone calling him.

“Good morning sunshine! How are you feeling today, baby of mine, mh? Well I hope!”

Tim shuddered. It was the Joker. He came every morning since he started tying him up during the night – he had to, otherwise Tim wouldn’t be able to get up, and the Joker was very strict on daily routine – but Tim had hoped he wouldn’t be there today.

Was it even the morning? Was it the tomorrow of… that night?

The Joker slapped his arm gently. Tim moaned. He was tired and hurting.

“Aw, I hope I didn’t harm you? Come on, you have to wake up! What do you say when you wake up?”

“Good morning”, Tim managed to articulate.

The manacles opened, freeing his wrists at last. He pulled them against his chest, curling into a ball reflexively. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to eat more candy.

A hand played with his hair, gently.

“Did you have a nightmare? You can tell me, if you like. You can tell me everything. What happened?”

Tim shuddered, not answering. His wrists were blue with bruises. He had tried to get free several time during the night. He had almost dislocated his thumb.

“That bad a nightmare, mh? I’m sure it won’t last. The day is there, now! Get a shower and we’ll have a nice breakfast.”

Tim didn’t want breakfast and he didn’t want to play nice with the Joker! He just wanted to stay in bed and cry some more like the baby he was. He could feel no real damage had been done to his body, but it was still bruised everywhere. His lips had been cut at some point; he could feel the crust on it and taste blood in his mouth.

He wanted to go back to sleep.

“I’ll make it a treat”, the Joker continued. “What about bacon and eggs?”

Tim raised his head. Real food? The Joker laughed.

“Yes! I knew you’d like it. Let’s make today special! You’ll also have vegetable, meat and potatoes at lunch and dinner, what about that? But only if you get up now!”

This was… basic manipulation, Tim realized. But it still worked. He was feeling ravenous after so many days eating only sugar, especially now that he was so tired physically.

He _wanted_ to do what the Joker was asking. This was very, very bad. He had to control this or that wouldn’t end well.

“What kind of meat?” he asked in a complaining voice.

“What would you like?”

“I want beef! A steak? With potatoes and peas!”

“Alright. Now get up, time to go to the bathroom.”

Tim forced his body up. He managed to sit, hurting but whole. He had nothing broken, probably no internal damage. He could get up. He just had to try. He pushed on his trembling legs, leaning against the wall. The Joker put a hand on his back to help him.

“There. It’s the very next room.”

Tim nodded and took the first step. His body slowly became suppler while he walked, rusty but working. The hand was removed before he reached the bathroom; he heard the Joker head back downstairs.

The shower first made things worse. All the little cuts hurt like hell under the water and it was even worse with the soap. But when he was done, he turned it hotter, and it became bliss on his rigid muscles.

He smelled the odor of bacon. He didn’t dare to hope. This probably was another trick. It was going to be under glass instead than on the table or something. He was still salivating at the only thought of meat and that got him out of the shower.

Then he saw himself in the mirror and startled. He was bruised _everywhere_. His ribs, his arms and especially his face were covered with contusions. Moreover, besides the white spots fading on his skin, he was livid, dark rings under his eyes, and visibly famished. There better be meat and vegetable in the next few _days_.

But he couldn’t waste time thinking about that right now; he was already late. He dressed quickly and combed his hair – if he didn’t, he was punished – then made sure his clothes were pristine before going downstairs to join the Joker for breakfast.

There really was bacon and eggs, and even a toast. Tim sat down, still not believing those would made it to his mouth, much less his stomach. The Joker was grinning.

“Are you sure you want some?”

“Yes, please”, Tim answered, not daring to raise his voice.

Bacon, eggs and toast were served in his plate. He thanked the Joker politely and waited for him to start eating. Then he took the first bite himself. It was delicious. _Real food!_ Even if it was only breakfast, it tasted like paradise. He ate slowly – he was also punished if he was too quick or took too much food in his mouth. No one stopped him. The food didn’t start walking away. The table didn’t disappear in front of him.

He was feeling stupidly grateful for the damn bacon when the Joker had been the one to deprive him in the first place. Human’s brain was really strange.

He pushed the thought away and finished eating, savoring each little bite of meat.

#### ***

There were no words to express how much Dick hated the damn cape. It restricted his movements, physically and figuratively. While wearing it, he couldn’t move like he wanted, he couldn’t smile, he couldn’t joke, he couldn’t jump as he should, he had to be the goddamn Batman and he hated it.

To say he had secretly hoped to become Batman when he was a kid… It had been a long, long time ago, back when he hadn’t realized only ten years separated him from Bruce. For him to become Batman meant Bruce would be too badly hurt to go on. When he had realized that much, he stopped hoping instantly.

Even later, he’d realized Batman _was_ Bruce. Not the whole of him, but still tailor-made to fit him, his needs, the mission as he saw it. It wasn’t a costume meant for Dick. Some reflexes that were natural to Bruce were for Dick too hard a weight for him to carry.

Dick jumped to the next roof, gritting his teeth. Jason would have made a much better Batman, given time. He was stronger, closer to Bruce is some aspects. He would have been able to fit the role without it weighting heavy on him. Of course, he would have had to control his anger first, but… Well. It wasn’t happening now, Jason being mostly out of the roofs.

Tim… Tim would have made a wonderful Batman too. He was yet too fragile, but, as an adult…

Dick pushed those thought away to grapple a gargoyle. He crouched on it, looming over the city. Being Batman didn’t have _only_ disadvantages. But still.

“Playing the big bad Batman, birdie?” Jason’s voice mocked in the com.

“What is current status?” Dick growled.

Jason laughed as an answer, unimpressed.

“No warning sent for the last hour.”

Forewarned Gothamite, he didn’t add any silly comment about the night probably being over. They both had learnt that nothing was certain until patrol was done. And even then, there was always the possibility of an emergency.

“Then please keep the communication to a minimum”, Dick answered.

“Ah, don’t start. You’re as bored as I am. And I can hear you swear about the cape from the Cave.”

“It’s heavy!” Dick complained before he could stop himself.

Jason laughed again. In the background, Dick heard Damian protest.

“I should be the one wearing it! _I_ am worthy and I wouldn’t complain!”

“No one get to be Batman before hitting twenty, so don’t even try”, Jason said.

“I could manage!”

“You’re _eight_.”

“You not having been skilled enough at that age doesn’t mean _I_ am not.”

Dick smiled secretly. It felt good to hear the little birds bickering. That’s what Robin was about: to remind Batman what he was fighting for.

Tim’s absence was a constant ache. If at least he had him at his side, laughing, playing… Maybe then he would be able to stand the cape. But Tim not being there was the exact reason why he was wearing this costume in the first place.

“I am not skilled enough _now_ ”, Jason was answering. “And you’ve lost all our battles so far. So don’t even try to deny it.”

Damian grumbled, not daring to protest. He had learnt not to, since Jason was one to prove his point given the opportunity. Saying he was stronger meant starting a new fight, which Jason would undoubtedly win.

This behavior annoyed most people but it worked wonders on Damian. It also had the great advantage that since Jason respected Dick as a best fighter while himself being better than Damian, the kid reluctantly started to listen to him, too. Dick still didn’t see him becoming a Robin anytime soon, but they were getting closer.

That was, if Talia would give them enough time. She had dropped Damian on Bruce to distract him from her plans, which had worked very effectively, especially with Tim going missing shortly later. Dick didn’t doubt that when she would be done with them, though, she would want her son back.

“Shooting near the courthouse”, Jason suddenly declared. “Apparently, it’s just the mob getting nervous, but it’s near one of Cobblepot’s lairs so…”

“On my way. ETA ten minutes”, Dick said, grappling to get enough speed to start gliding.

“Batgirl is closer. Dispatching?”

“She only needs to intervene if the situation degenerates before I get there.”

“She ain’t going to like that.”

Dick didn’t answer.

“Alright”, Jason sighed. “You’re the boss. But it ain’t you she’s going to shriek on.”

“Didn’t L. cure you of that turn of phrase?”

The com link was shut down with a raging click. Dick grinned. No one could see him when he was gliding in the shadows of Gotham’s sky, anyway.

#### ***

It was hard to be sure, without natural light, but Tim thought his skin was recovering. He turned his arm so the lamp would reflect better on it. Yes, it was getting slightly pink again. Of course, without sun, it wasn’t going to become much better, especially since he had a very white skin to begin with – he always envied Dick’s healthy darker tone.

He slid down the skin, where he had climbed upon in order to get closer to the light bulb. Then he took his comb and did his hair. He was starting to hate the perfect parting imposed by the Joker. If he was nice enough, perhaps instead than a meal he could ask for a free hair style? No, that was stupid. He had to take care of his most basic needs first. Balanced food was the most important of those for the moment. He had managed to get one of those meals per week now and the Joker had promised he would get one per day if he kept behaving.

Not trying to escape felt horrible, though. He couldn’t help but to consider himself weak and incompetent. He should be able to look for the exit while not being caught.

Maybe… Maybe tomorrow he would try again. But if he failed, that would mean losing the food and probably get punished again. Tim shuddered. He had to try anyway. If he didn’t, he would never get out.

He froze at the thought. He was going to be freed! Very soon! Bruce was looking for him, he knew. Even a faked dead wouldn’t work this time. He would never, ever stop looking! Batman needed a Robin. And Bruce needed his family to be safe. Tim had only been adopted four months ago and had been captive for three of those but he was still part of the family.

Wasn’t he?

No. He couldn’t doubt Bruce. Bruce was the strongest man he knew.

But he was still going to try getting out of there tomorrow. To send a signal, if not to freed himself. If only he could get past that door…

Tim shuddered at the idea of what was expecting him when he’d fail. If, if he’d fail, he corrected by rote. More acid showers, or something even more horrible…

He couldn’t wait for the next day. He had to try it now.

He got downstairs and took a look at the clock which hung on the hall’s wall. It wasn’t always giving the correct hour but it did, most of the time. It gave the same estimation as Tim’s internal clock, which said he had a solid hour before the Joker would be back.

Tim quickly went back upstairs, to the Joker’s room, where he had hidden the few tools he’d managed to steal or make – it was the least obvious place where to have a cache and the only one where he hadn’t found any cameras so of course he had chosen it. There, he had a knife – which he hadn’t used on the Joker because he wasn’t desperate enough to fight him with his weapon of choice yet –, a fork, two nails he had keened on the sink’s metal pipes and a paper clip. That would have to do.

He took everything but one of the nails: better to keep something for later in the case he didn’t manage to get away. Then, he went back downstairs and started to work.

Last time, he had had the time to see what had triggered the glue trap and started by disabling that. His hands were trembling but he didn’t stop until he was sure it couldn’t hurt him anymore. Then, he started working on the lock.

He wasn’t very good at this kind of work. He remembered Jason mocking him, calling him a rich boy, during the few weeks they had been able to live normally together. Jason had had incentive to learn how to open doors, back when he had lived in the streets, Tim had understood on that occasion. He himself only started doing this when he had become Robin, years later.

He wished he had had more time. He tried to remember Jason’s advices but opening a reinforced door was really, really hard, especially without his utility belt. He still kept trying. He had looked everywhere _else_ and there was no exit. He had checked if the wall sounded hollow, he had moved the furniture – after having marked its exact place in order to put it back precisely where it had been, of course – and the frames. He had controlled the fake windows and the fake front door in case the walls had been thinner there.

There was no exit. It _had_ to be in the living room.

So Tim kept working on the lock. He didn’t dare to look at the clock, though he knew the hour was passing. His brain was counting the ticking seconds in the background, even though he tried to concentrate exclusively on his work. To bolt just a bit on the left – two thousand and forty-six, two thousand and forty-seven – and now on the right – two thousand and forty-eight, two thousand and forty-nine.

Then it reached three thousand. Then four. Then _five_. At that point, Tim checked the clock, just in case he had miscalculated – but no. It had been an hour and twenty three minutes since he’d started. And the Joker wasn’t back yet. He should probably stop. Wait for him to come back and continue the next day.

Tim collected his tools and went upstairs to put them back in the cache. Then, he sat at his desk to read a bit. The Joker always left behind the books he had read him during bedtime. Sometimes, they contained more than the unique tale he had told, so Tim could kill some time by reading them. Of course, they were all gruesome.

The one he was on now was a collection of Oscar Wilde short stories. The Joker had read him ‘The Nightingale and the rose’ which thought a lesson about despair and life’s meaningless – or so Tim had understood it. The other stories weren’t much better. Tim read them nonetheless, too bored to care.

When he turned the page to realize it was the last one, he blinked. The book only had sixty-four pages. He could read an average of a hundred pages by hour but here, the characters were big so he couldn’t have taken more than half an hour – but still. The Joker was late.

He put the book back on his shelve, which counted now forty-six novels, one by bedtime story. Then, he quickly went to the bathroom to check his hair – still neat – and went back downstairs. After a dozen steps, he froze on the last one.

There was a trail with food next to the living room door. The plate was still steaming hot. And the door was closed.

“No”, Tim moaned. “No, no…”

He had triggered the alarm. The Joker knew he had tried to leave. And he was punishing him by leaving him there. _Alone_.

“No!” Tim shrieked.

He punched the living room door, not caring about hurting himself. He drummed against it, begging.

“No, please, come back! I’ll be nice! Please, _please_!”

He didn’t care he was being weak, he didn’t care he had proven to be incompetent. He just _couldn’t stay there alone!_

“Please”, he sobbed, sliding against the door to the ground, on his knees. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

No one answered.

#### ***

The clock’s seconds didn’t beat on rhythm, Tim noticed for the first time. It never entirely missed one, nor did it tick on exactly a half-beat. It was just _that_ close to be on rhythm but wasn’t.

It was absolutely maddening.

Tim stayed put anyway. It was almost lunch time. The Joker didn’t seem to want him to starve since he had given him food, real one even, not just candies. So he was going to come to give him lunch. There hadn’t been dinner the previous night; Tim had spent it at the door, pleading and drumming on it. He only had gone back upstairs at five, exhausted. But when he had woken up, breakfast had been waiting for him.

He concluded the Joker would be there for lunch. Wouldn’t he? He would. He surely would. There were only five minutes, seventeen seconds left. Which meant three hundred seventeen seconds. Only three hundred and nine, now. Three hundred and eight.

That damn clock had been out of rhythm again! _Twice!_ Tim took a deep breath. It was only a clock. He only had to ignore it. While counting the seconds, but he could do this. He had trained with Bruce, had learnt meditating techniques. He could do this.

Two hundred and ninety-six.

He was almost there. One full day of waiting. That must be enough. Wasn’t it? He had even tried to clean his dishes in the bathroom’s sink. The water had been greenish and had stung, but he had. Wasn’t he being nice?

Two hundred and ninety-two. Two hundred and ninety-one.

He couldn’t just keep counting. But what else could he do to occupy himself? He had tried to read in the morning but hadn’t managed to concentrate on the pages. He knew them by heart, having read them all once or even twice – an eidetic memory wasn’t being the best gift right now. Moreover, he kept his ears open, looking for any sound announcing the Joker’s return.

How pathetic was that? Waiting for his jailor. He was shaming Robin’s title. No. It was perfectly normal. Humans were gregarious creatures. He needed to see someone. The Joker was playing with this need. Tim had to fight it.

Two hundred and seventy-four.

Tim took a deep breath. Again. He went back upstairs, counting the steps – thirteen – then checked the Joker’s bedroom. Then his. The bathroom. The toilet. He opened all the drawers of his desk, one my one, meticulously. Nothing had been moved, of course. But it killed time. He went back to the Joker’s room, at the other end of the corridor. It took nine steps – it was a short corridor.

One hundred forty-seven, and this wasn’t working. He didn’t manage to keep his mind away from the time.

What if he was miscounting? Tim suddenly realized. He rushed downstairs, all thought about distracting himself forgotten. But the trail still only presented the clean plate he had put back there. Good. If he had missed him…

He sat down and kept counting. The two last minutes felt like hours. Then, of course, when he reached zero, nothing happened. This wasn’t like the New Year; it didn’t happen on an exact schedule. Maybe it should. No; of course not. A meal could be given at a specific time but never to the second or people would go mad.

Was he becoming mad? Tim’s heart rate increased. He probably was, a bit. Which was entirely normal, under the circumstances. He just had to be aware of it, not to let it spiral out of control. He had been there for four months and two days, which was about… a hundred and twenty-four days, or seven thousand, four hundred forty hours, or… No. He wasn’t going to translated that into minutes or seconds. Especially not seconds.

(Two minutes, fifty-six seconds late, his traitorous mind whispered.)

Stop. No need to count nor to listen to the damn clock which _kept being out of rhythm irregularly!_ He had to breathe. Calm down. Meditate. And wait. Food was coming and with it, someone.

So he waited.

And waited.

One hour later, he was close to tears. No one had come. He was sitting there alone on the stairs. He couldn’t take this. He just – couldn’t.

He sobbed, just one, little sob. Then he just started crying. If he was in the Joker’s place, he would be watching his cameras’ recordings, to see his prisoner cry. The Joker would love it. He would laugh and applaud and ask for encore! Encore!

Tim didn’t know if he wanted him to be happy or if he wanted him not to like seeing him like this. He was too tired, physically and emotionally, to care. So he just kept crying. He rolled on a ball, to gather warmth. Maybe he would need a blanket. He was going to take one from his bed and to come back there to wait.

He gathered his strength to get up and climb the stairs. When he arrived to his bed, he couldn’t find it in him to go back down though so he just laid there. One hour, seven minutes, thirty-seven seconds after the meal should have been served, he fell asleep.

#### ***

He woke up to find out dinner had been served. It was already cold but still waiting for him. Tim was starting to understand: he was to be fed, but not to see anyone. Since someone had to bring the food, he wouldn’t get any if he kept waiting at the door.

Which meant he had six hours to try to open the damn door.

He put himself to work, determined not to stop until half an hour before breakfast. Then he would go back upstairs and wait for it to be served, eat, and keep working. There was no way this lock could resist him for long!

#### ***

He had gone to bed an hours before breakfast and had fallen asleep again. Then he had overslept, of course, after having been awake for a whole night. A cold breakfast had been waiting for him nonetheless, as expected. He ate then started working on the lock again.

The water had been green in the shower so he hadn’t clean. Who cared anyway?

He had two hours left before lunch and work to do.

#### ***

He went upstairs for half an hour, ate lunch, then worked on the lock.

#### ***

Dinner, working on the lock.

#### ***

Breakfast, the same.

#### ***

He probably had _broken_ the lock. Though it kept opening for the trail to give food. So maybe it wasn’t broken.

It still wasn’t opening.

#### ***

This was the fourth day. He wasn’t good enough. The lock wasn’t opening.

Tim fought back the despair and kept trying.

#### ***

Five days.

#### ***

Six.

#### ***

The trail had still been empty in the seventh morning. The door was never going to open again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tale "Velkooký, Velkoústý" comes from the Manga "Monster". I totally recommand the manga in its whole; this tale particularly stroke me.


	3. Mind the words that you said

Dick waited for the portal to the JLA to open, nervous as hell. He shouldn’t be, he knew. This wasn’t his first time at the League and he was even wearing his own costume, Nightwing’s. Sure, he had been sent on Batman’s behalf to represent him but that didn’t mean much. He had represented the Titans there before. It wasn’t a big deal.

The portal opened – and he all but bumped into Wonder Woman who was standing guard.

“Nightwing?” Diana seemed astonished to see him there. “Is there a problem with the Titans?”

Dick was going to kill Bruce. He hadn’t warned them that he was sending him instead of coming himself.

“Not at all”, he answered politely, smiling, because Diana hadn’t done anything wrong.

She looked at him for a second. Then frowned suddenly.

“Oh the bastard”, she said. “He didn’t tell us anything.”

Sometimes, it felt good to be around people who knew Bruce. Dick smiled more sincerely.

“Yeah, he is like that. I came to represent him. I know it is not the regular procedure, but… he is busy”, Dick finished lamely.

Diana nodded, relieving him from a big weight. Then again, she knew Tim was missing.

“Of course. I am sure the others won’t see this breaking of the rules as insulting. We all understand Batman’s priority is to find Robin.” She softened a bit, something which didn’t happen often. “I wish I could help, myself.”

“It’s alright. The League already helped a lot.”

They did. Dick didn’t blame them for stopping looking for Tim after only a month. The chances of him being alive had become insignificant after the first few hours, let alone the first few days, and the League as a whole had other priorities, like saving the world. No, Dick wasn’t mad at them.

He still understood why Jason was. Sometimes, seeing people close to them, close enough to get that Bruce had sent him there without warning anyone, give up on their family because of the greater good… it left a bitter taste in one’s mouth.

“They are waiting for everyone to arrive in the private lounge”, Diana explained. “I will accompany you as soon as GL is there, he’s the only one missing.”

“No need. Batman gave me his codes.”

Diana frowned. The private parts of the Tower were supposed to be – well, private. Dick had known Bruce’s code since its construction, actually, but he had been told only to use them for emergencies, which never happened previously. He was sure they weren’t his actual codes, anyway. They probably could only be unlocked when Bruce wanted them to be.

“Don’t worry”, he said to reassure her. “He will update them as soon as he is back.”

“I am sure he will.”

Bruce’s paranoia didn’t require any explanation, either. Dick smiled again then went to the lounge. He had relaxed for maybe five minutes but now, he was on edge again. He might be around friends, they could still act hostile if they were unsatisfied with the situation. Which they would be.

Then again, Bruce had posed himself as the bad guy. By not warning anyone, he was reminding them how annoying of an ally he could be. Which meant Dick was the good guy; the one that had to take the blows for Batman, the solution.

Which meant Bruce was paving the way for Dick to appear as Batman at the JLA, in case he didn’t find Tim soon.

Dick hated it when Bruce acted like that. And he hated even more that he could guess his thought in those occurrence. He damn well hoped he wouldn’t act the same if he ever ended up in his shoes.

He entered the private area. Only the founders and members of the council were admitted there. Sometimes, but very rarely, sidekicks accompanied them. Dick had, back when he was Robin. He knew Wally had when he was Kidflash. Since he had made it to Flash’ title since, Dick guessed that had been justified.

He wasn’t going to follow this thought up to the end. He _wasn’t_ Batman.

He entered the room and everyone’s heads turned to him. Dick grinned.

“Hello! Sorry, I’m late.” He had been on purpose not to have to face their reaction one by one. If he had to do this, he preferred to take them all at once. “Uh, Batman isn’t coming today, he’s busy. So, well, here I am?”

Flash grinned back at him. The Martian Manhunter tried not to smile. Arthur was frowning, of course, and Cyborg rolled his eyes but nodded to Dick, welcoming him among them. He had told him often enough that Nightwing should be part of the League. Dick had laughed and answered that he didn’t intend to accept the invitation. The truth being, he never had been invited, probably because Bruce.

That totally was a sentence. It didn’t need any addition to be understandable by all people in presence.

Clark wasn’t frowning. He was smiling with cold eyes, which was much, much worse. Bruce was going to be yelled at or Dick wasn’t an aerialist.

“Welcome to you, Nightwing. A warning would have been nice.”

“I’m sorry, I would have send a message ahead, but…”

“I don’t blame you, don’t worry.”

Ouch. Well, Bruce deserved that one. The good news was the comment had made the few belligerent ones relax. Oh, Arthur and Shayera were still frowning but it was their default except while fighting. Dick always wondered why they hadn’t gotten along with Jason, considering.

But then, if Damian ever made it to Robin, they might start to ask how Jason was doing.

“I was told we are still waiting for GL?” Dick asked.

“He warned he would be late”, Clark confirmed. “He shouldn’t be long.”

Dick nodded. Instead than joining Flash or Cyborg, he nodded at them and went to greet Arthur.

“I’ve heard there are been problems in South Pacific. Has everything been settled?” he asked.

Arthur looked surprised he knew about it, but was glad enough to talk about how he had handled the situation. They didn’t chat for long; GL arrived only a few minutes later, as promised, Diana at his side. She apparently had warned him of Dick’s presence because he didn’t look surprised.

“I apologize once again for suspending everyone’s schedule like this”, he said. “Let’s start this without any further delay.”

That’s when the real game started. Dick represented Bruce and as such, he wouldn’t go against his beliefs. However, Bruce had sent him, so he would still act as himself, not as Batman. For once.

The problem was most of them had met him as Batman’s sidekick, when he was still wearing green panties.

However, he had won their respect as Nightwing. He had been at the head of the Titans for years and now two persons of his generation were part of this very council. Friends of his whom he had leaded back in the days. Also, he had started being Robin before any of them had even found their official name. _And_ Clark listened to him.

Dick grinned, suddenly relaxing. This was going to be alright.

#### ***

Tim had cried and begged again. He had tried to scratch the door open. He had scraped the wall with his fork until it broke. Then he had gone back upstairs and looked at the hated bedroom. He was still standing there an hour later, his face blank, exhausted.

He had to do something, his brain finally decided. And he knew what. If he was wrong… He would starve to death. Maybe that would be for the best.

He undressed, folding his stained clothes neatly on a chair. Once naked, he went to the bathroom and turned on the shower hose. The liquid was green. Tim bit his lips and entered the cubicle anyway. It sting, like last time, but not horribly so. He washed, using soap and shampoo, making sure he was clean everywhere even under his nails.

When he was done, he dried off. He combed his hair. He chose his clothes carefully and dressed. In about an hour, lunch would be served. Possibly. He could read in the meantime.

He took the very first book the Joker had read him. It wasn’t written in English but he still opened it. Should he try to read it in Romanian or should he invent the story?

He cleared his throat.

 **“** Velkooký, Velkoústý”, he tried. No, that didn’t sound quite right. He would have to invent, then. “I guess it means, ‘The man with the big mouth and the man with the big eyes’.”

He opened the book, and started telling the story, page by page.

It was short; it only took him about twenty minutes. He put the book neatly back on the shelf. What else could he do? Drawing, maybe. He had never been good at it.

He took a pen and a paper and started drawing the two men of the tale. He didn’t really try to make it anything beautiful. He directly went for childish instead.

“I should ask for colored pencils”, he said out loud.

He was sure the Joker was watching him. Why would he not, if he could? Of course, he probably didn’t spend his whole day in front of the monitor. Actually, Tim doubted he had changed his routine very much, otherwise Bruce and the others would have suspected he was the one to have abducted him.

What if the Joker was put back in Arkham? he abruptly wondered. The very idea was terrifying. He would really die here alone if that was the case. Except if he had given anyone instruction? Better not to count on someone.

Better not to think about this at all. Did you think about how many people died in car accidents in a year when you entered one? You didn’t.

(More than thirty thousands in the US only.)

He took another paper and started drawing the Nightingale from Oscar Wilde’s tale. Then he stopped abruptly.

“No, I didn’t read that tale again, I can’t draw it yet.”

He put his drawing tools away. Deciding otherwise, he took back the pen to sign the drawing. He wrote ‘Tim’ in his best calligraphy.  Finally satisfied, he tidied his desk and brought his present to the ground floor to put it on the trail. That wouldn’t magically fix the lock, but well.

He went back up and kept talking to himself for the remaining hour. He stopped from time to time to remind himself this was all make-believe. He knew as much, but saying it clearly in his head before it became necessary felt like a good idea.

At lunch time, he went back downstairs. Nothing had changed but he pretended it had.

“What a good meal has been prepared for me!” he said, forcing himself to smile. “I sure will enjoy it!”

He went back upstairs to take his desk chair, carrying it carefully on the stairs, and settled it in front of the trail.

“Enjoy your meal!”

He took his cutlery and pretended to eat. He had seen someone do this in a movie, several years before. He hadn’t realized what a torture that would be. He wasn’t that hungry yet, though. He had eaten the previous evening. But if this lasted…

He kept pretending for half an hour before sighing.

“That was delicious. Thank you for cooking it for me!”

Taking back the chair to his desk took him only minutes. But then of course, he had to clean his plate and cutlery, and put them back on the trail. Considering the mess he had made in the hall while trying to open the door, he decided to clean up a bit.

That occupied him for some time. Then he went back upstairs and sang a few tones, to kill time. No, not kill, to pass the time.

He read another book, though not out loud this time. He wouldn’t last long without food so he could allow himself to read several in a day. He knew it by heart, but well.

At dinner time, he played his act again. Then it was time to shower and make ready for the night. It was excruciating to pretend someone was reading him a new story, but he still did. He wondered if the Joker was actually reading one to the screen where he was looking at him. He probably was.

He wished he could hear, damn him.

He said goodnight, gave his wrists to someone who wasn’t there, and pretended they were tied to his bed. He wouldn’t put the manacles for real, even though they were in his nightstand: he wouldn’t be able to open them in the morning.

He closed his eyes and prayed to fall asleep quickly.

#### ***

The next day, the door was still locked and there was still no food. Tim decided to keep pretending everything was normal. Wasn’t that what the Joker had asked him to do since the beginning? And each time he had been nice, he had earned something, like the meals. The Joker hadn’t even taken them back when Tim had tried to leave again, until the door had been broken.

He showered, pretended to eat breakfast, then went back to his room to read. He also made some exercises because he was feeling the surplus of energy making him even more nervous. He was starting be hungry now but it only had been a day, so nothing worrying yet.

He should have made stocks in his room. He would have to, when he’d have access to food again.

He probably shouldn’t exercise right now. But everything was normal, wasn’t it? Except no, it wasn’t. He had to remember that.

Seclusion was weakening his mind. Which probably was the Joker’s intention since the beginning.

Of course it has been his scope. Why else to play with him like that?

Because it was funny, probably.

He was starting to talk to himself, Tim noted. That was no good. Only a week alone – alright, ten days, four hours, which would make – no, he had to stop calculating everything, but his brain felt so _empty_ he had to keep it busy – enough. He should concentrate on his exercise. Those were good for him.

A big, shrieking noise echoed in the hall. Tim jumped on his feet, ready to go – then froze. Someone was working on the broken door. Someone who would most probably _open_ it. But if he went downstairs before being authorized to see people again… It was going to stop, Tim was sure of it.

He sat on his bed, all the blood gone from his face, and waited. It was the most horrible, long wait of his life. Well, not really; it had been for the last few days. But now, hope was making it worse, somehow. If the door was being closed shut instead than being opened… He would break. He just would.

And he also would starve, incidentally.

The noise was deafening. They were cutting the door out of its frame, he realized. If he got downstairs when they would have, before they’d put the new one…

Tim shuddered. He would be punished. And this time, he probably wouldn’t survive.

He tried hard not to sob, but started crying – again! He couldn’t help himself. He was so exhausted… With this noise, he couldn’t take a nap. It was way too early to go to bed anyway.

So he kept waiting, counting the parquet’s plank to kill time. Pass time. Whatever.

He should ask for a dictionary. Maybe so he would at least be able to learn something. But before he could ask for anything, he had to behave well enough for the Joker to come back. He probably wouldn’t be able to ask for anything for some time, now. He had been a _bad boy_. He could hear the Joker’s tone while saying those words: _‘You have been a bad, bad boy’_.

Tim pulled his pillow and hugged it against his chest.

#### ***

Jason had so _many_ things to do. He kept handling Lex’s accounting during his days and spent his nights at the Cave to either help Bruce or Dick, depending on who needed it. Bruce always had the priority, of course, because if he could do anything that would help find Tim _sooner_ …

If neither had work for him, he could still train the brat. Damian was a good fighter, considering his age, but he still had a lot to learn. Discipline, for a start, and yeah, even _Jason_ had the right to point it out considering his lack of it.

During week-ends, either Kon visited or he could train with Mercy. Occasionally, he’d spent an afternoon with Lex.

And yet. _Yet_ his brain would keep working on Tim’s disappearance.

The workforce Lex had put into place didn’t have any lead to follow. They were kept ready, just in case, but Mercy hadn’t had any work to give to them for weeks. It made Jason sick.

‘ _Robin, you’re alive!_ ’ kept echoing in his mind.

Since everything else wasn’t enough to make it shut up, he ended up in Lex’s workshop at the strangest hours. Not that deconstructing robotic parts and reading plans were any more effective, but… Well. It did keep his mind at least a little busy when he couldn’t sleep.

“It’s 3AM”, Lex said from the doorframe.

Jason didn’t bother to answer. There was a big, red digital clock on the wall. He knew what time it was.

“I dislike waking up alone”, Lex continued.

Jason relaxed a bit at that. Lex hadn’t been used to sleep with someone, when they’d started… whatever was what they had.

“I couldn’t sleep”, he answered at last, stating the obvious as well.

Lex’s brain possibly had woken up since his first remark because he made a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. Instead than pointing out how useless Jason’s words had been, though, he pulled a chair to sat at his side.

“The leg, this time?”

“I wanted a change.” Jason kept working, falsely casual. “I found some plans in an old server. Partly biologic robotics. Was it…”

“No”, Lex interrupted savagely.

All rest had deserted him. Jason had expected the subject to be touchy, but not _that_ touchy.

“Alright. Show me how this one is done? I don’t manage to get this part.”

Lex relaxed as quickly as he had tensed. It was a lie, but Jason trusted it would become real after a few minutes of showing him how this was done.

Maybe what they had wasn’t a _relationship_ yet.

Maybe they were getting there.

#### ***

There was a brand new door. On its right, the trail had been replaced with a new one, offering a meal and an empty box. On its top were drew a little screwdriver crossed with a little monkey wrench. The message was clear.

Tim still ate first, because he was starving and it was dinner time. He hadn’t had lunch that day either because the works hadn’t been done by midday. He ate slowly, savoring the meat and vegetable. There wasn’t any bread he could keep so he simply cleaned his plate thoroughly. He thanked the empty air for his meal and brought the chair back upstairs.

Then, with a heavy heart, he gathered his tools and put them in the box. He cleaned his plate and went back to his room to shower and make himself ready for bedtime.

He had been defeated. He couldn’t get away on his own. He had to behave – and hope Bruce would be there soon.

Pretending to listen to a story, he hoped, very much, that the door would be opened the next morning.

#### ***

Dick woke up exhausted. Opening an eye, he realized sun hadn’t even start rising, which meant it was way too early considering patrol had finished at 4AM.

Bruce wasn’t in the bed.

He opened his second eye to check the red glow of the alarm’s digits. 6:00, which explained why he still felt so tired.

And Bruce hadn’t stopped working yet.

Dick slid out of the bed, grabbing Bruce’s cashmere’s robe and wrapped himself in it. He wandered in the corridors, not bothering with the lights. He knew the manor by heart anyway.

Everyone was asleep at this time of the morning. Even Batman should be.

Thankfully, Bruce had settled in the library instead than going down to the Cave. Despite the early hour – for them anyway, some people were probably getting ready for work – the room felt cozy. Dying embers were glowing in the fireplace. A desk lamp provided enough light for Bruce to read his files. The computers’ screens were showing strange diagrams Dick wouldn’t have understood with a clearer mind.

He put his arms around Bruce’s shoulders.

“Hey.”

“Mh.”

“Do you intend to sleep tonight? Well. This morning, anyway.”

“I’m not done yet.”

Dick kissed his jaw.

“You didn’t sleep last night either.”

Bruce frowned at last.

“You sound like Alfred.”

“We worry about you.” Dick whacked the back of his head preventively. “And don’t you dare. We also do worry about Tim. A _lot_.”

Silence. Dick knew better than to say anything else. He waited.

“It’s been two months”, Bruce said at last.

“Tim is a strong kid. He’s _Robin_ ”, Dick pointed out.

“It’s my responsibility to protect him.”

Dick sighed, pulling Bruce closer.

“I feel like it’s mine, too, you know? Tim is my little brother.”

Bruce looked at the screen blankly. Or maybe thoughtfully. Sometimes, it was hard to tell, and Dick was tired.

“I still have no clue.”

“We’ll find him.”

“In what state?”

Dick shuddered. He, too, was afraid of this. To find Tim’s body would be horrible. To find him broken… might be worse.

The longer he was away, the more they had to hope he was dead. And that – that was a terrible thought.

“Two months isn’t such a long time.”

“In the hands of the Joker?”

Dick froze.

“It’s not the Joker. Is it? Do you have anything that might…”

“No. I’m just talking worst case scenario.”

Dick didn’t relax entirely, but still a bit. If it was the Joker… He’d rather not think about it.

“Maybe it was Talia. I’m surprised she didn’t claim her son back yet. I mean, she dropped Damian on you to distract you from her plans…”

“Mhn.”

“Not sleeping doesn’t make your mind sharper, you know. You actually lose time.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. He looked tense and tired. He looked at the end of his rope. Dick wished he could do something to help – but he was helping already. He was being Batman while Bruce searched for Tim, and not Bruce nor Dick could duplicate themselves to work even more than they currently did.

“I don’t manage to sleep even when I try”, Bruce suddenly say. “So better to use those hours constructively.”

In how many ways could he break Dick’s heart?

“Come to bed. Please. I’ll stay awake to make sure you sleep.”

Bruce didn’t seem convinced, but he heard how tense Dick was now. He followed, reluctantly.

Ten minutes later, he was sleeping in Dick’s arms.

At 8, they both were back in the library.

#### ***

He was smelling coffee. Tim opened his eyes. It was morning, he was sure. And he was smelling coffee and sugar. It was impossible; the tray always presented hot food but not enough so for the smell to travel upstairs.

Which meant the kitchen door was opened.

He got up and fought the reflex to directly go to check it. Instead, he went to the bathroom and showered. The white spots were back on his skin, everywhere now. They were starting to leave more permanent white patches on his face and shoulders. He tried not to think about it too hard.

He combed his hair and dressed. Then waited. He had to be called downstairs. Please, make it that he would be called downstairs.

“Baby! Breakfast is ready!”

Tim ran. He couldn’t help it, he just did. He jumped over the last five steps of the stairs and only slowed down when arriving in front of the opened door. His eyes were blurring with tears. It was _open_. He hadn’t been able to open it himself but now it was open, the Joker was back!

Tim entered the kitchen, half expecting to be punished for doing so. But he wasn’t – and the Joker was there, smiling at him, wearing a brand new purple apron.

“I-I’m sorry I ran” Tim said in a strangled voice. “I just missed you. A lot.”

Damn, he was crying again. Worse, he _sobbed_. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t help it.

“Aw, no need to be sorry, baby. Come here.”

Tim went. The Joker hugged him and he let him. God, he even hugged back, crying even harder, weeping without control.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I will be a good boy now!”

“You always have been a good boy, baby”, the Joker answered, patting his back. “You only had to realize you were.”

“Y-yes.”

“So, shall we eat now?”

Tim took a step back and smiled faintly. The Joker was staring at his wet face with greed.

“Yes, please, let’s. Is that candy I am smelling?”

“I thought I would make today special!”

“Thank you, you always think of everything. And you make every day special”, Tim added.

That earned him a proud grin.

“Good boy.”

His heart rate increased at the compliment. It felt _good_. It should _not!_

“May I help you with the service?”

“Oh thank you, babe. Here it is.”

Tim carried the main plate to the table while the Joker served coffee to both of them, with three sugar each. Breakfast included custard tart and chocolate cupcakes. It was sickly but Tim didn’t care and ate it all.

“It was delicious, dear”, he said when he was done.

“I’m thrilled it pleased you! Now that you are behaving, maybe you might even help me with next meal. What do you think?”

Tim smiled, almost sincere.

“I would be glad to.”

#### ***

Lex hang up the phone, frowning. He had let one of his directors handle an important negotiation, back in Metropolis, when he shouldn’t have: the results were catastrophic. He had to go back there and show his face to local politics before they forget who was ruling the show.

“Aouch!” Kon protested, receiving a can on the back of the head. “How do you _do_ this?”

“You’re just extremely bad at it”, Jason mocked, getting out of his hideout. “I’ve been holding my breath, that’s all. Aren’t you able to hear my heartbeat?”

“In the middle of Gotham? How _could_ I differentiate it from all the noises around?”

“Buhu, I can’t handle my superpowers”, Jason mocked.

Lex smiled. Kon had kept coming regularly despite them not being in Metropolis. By itself that was satisfactory. Then again, Lex had meticulously avoided any business the boy could have frowned upon those last few weeks.

However, that made handling the power Lex did have more complicated than it had been.

“It’s not that easy!” Kon protested.       

“ _I_ sure know where you are all the time _without_ any power. You’re just lazy.”

“I’m not!”

Another source of satisfaction was to see Kon and Jason get along so well. Even though Jason was really busy with Bats’ work – Lex frowned at the idea – he always made time for Kon whenever he visited.

“You are. How else do you explain that someone with less powers than you manages to hurt you?” Jason pointed out. “This could have been kryptonite”, he added, pointing the can.

“It’s not fair! I can’t do anything against kryptonite!”

Jason whacked the back of Kon’s head.

“I can’t do anything against _bullets_ or _your punches_ , you idiot. You have a team, don’t you? Young something. Robin was even part of it. What will you do the time when one of your teammates is hurt because you were too busy moaning about how you can’t handle your own powers?”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Kal El can hear someone’s heartbeat from cities away. If you could concentrate enough to do the same, maybe you’d have _heard_ something was wrong with Tim when he’s been abducted.”

That was a low blow. Lex entirely approved.

Kon looked like Superman had punched him in the face.

“How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true”, Jason answered coldly. “Now get over it and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Kon seemed ready to punch him in the face. Jason smirked. Kon’s hands twitched with need. Jason raised his eyebrows, provoking.

Lex concentrated on his work for a few minutes. His son was in good hands.

He hadn’t gone through his first email when he heard a crack of bones. He glanced over his shoulder; Kon looked absolutely shocked.

“You didn’t dodge!” he screamed, panicking. “Are you okay?”

“Nhh.”

A purple bruise was flourishing on Jason’s face. The teenager nodded nonetheless.

“Y’ n’ded t’ hit me.”

“That’s not a reason for you to _let me!_ Oh God. Batman is going to _kill me_.”

“No need to wait for him”, Lex intervened in a pleasant voice.

Kon froze. Jason tried to smirk – but stopped very quickly. His jaw was most probably broken, how was he not crushed by the pain? Lex wondered. Well. He had been waiting for the opportunity to inject him those nanomachines, hadn’t he?

“Sit down before you faint”, Lex ordered.

Jason glared, but obeyed.

“You are going to go to laboratory number 796-A, on floor -2 from Lex Tower”, Lex told Kon. “There is material there that I need transported here so I can fix this. Since you’re responsible for this situation, I suggest you go there as quickly as you can and come back without breaking anything else.”

Kon didn’t wait for precisions; he opened the window and disappeared in a blink of an eye.

Jason was smiling with his eyes.

“’ano ‘ines?” he tried to ask.

Lex frowned.

“Stop talking. He should be back soon with everything I need.”

Jason cast him a knowing glance. He knew the whole material was already in Gotham.

“He needed to think about what you said. And I need to find how to punish him for what he just did to you.”

“o’ a pro’em.”

“Yes, it _is_ a problem. If he handles his anger that badly with allies… and no, stop trying to answer me. We will finish this conversation when you’re healed. You’ll only make it worse.”

Some people would have enjoyed the opportunity not to have Jason protest at everything he said. But there was a reason why Lex kept him around, after all, and it wasn’t Jason’s good dispositions.

Except in bed, possibly.

“Let’s get downstairs”, Lex decided.

He called Mercy for a wheelchair, to Jason’s obvious displeasure and secret relief. The injection was easy to make; he only needed to monitor its results but already knew everything would be fine. It had been tested even before he used it on himself, after all.

Jason was waiting for the results when Kon finally came back, blushing – and empty handed.

He’d only realized on arrival that he hadn’t been told _which_ material had to be brought back.

#### ***

A shriek startled Tim awake. He tried to fumble around before remembering his wrists were bounded. The howling sound kept going, acute, intense, like a wave, pulling his brain away from its hazy sleep. Wait a minute… No one could scream like that. This was an alarm.

He was awake now, enough so to start worrying. An alarm. What if there was fire somewhere? (He didn’t dare to hope someone had entered the place.) (Better not even think about it.) But if there was fire, he wouldn’t be able to escape!

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the alarm stopped.

Silence fell. Tim pricked up his ears; nothing. Silence was as heavy as the shriek had been piercing. Tim waited for a while but nothing happened. Well, he had no choice but to wait for the next day to ask the Joker what had happened.

He was getting used at everything being strange and unexplained. That was bad, but he couldn’t help it.

He closed his eyes, still nervous but reassured by the absence of any strange noise. Maybe the Joker was just experimenting. Or some of his thugs had walked on a trigger. (If they were underground, did he have one of his lairs upstairs? Or was it a common building, like a warehouse or offices?). Or the gorilla was back and had a nightmare. Or something.

Alright, maybe he was a little stressed by this. He couldn’t help but to listen very hard. No noise at all was, somehow, exactly as frightening as the alarm had been. Actually, no; it was _terrifying_. Tim swallowed. The Joker had been back for two week now.

There had been baking, new stories – God, Tim’s eyes had filled with tears he’d barely managed to hold back under the Joker’s hungry gaze. It was humiliating how grateful Tim felt for every minute spent in his company. And every morning, he awoke at an early hour and waited for this jailor, counting minutes, petrified at the idea he might not come back.

Silence was a terrible, terrible thing, only underlined by the previous shriek. But at night, it was normal; he should have gotten used to it. The Joker had been back every morning. He ought not to think about the fact he might decide not to, someday, just to play with his mind. He _would_ be there in a few hours. He just had to sleep and the morning would come quickly.

Determined, Tim closed his eyes. Since his mind apparently decided it had to stay awake nonetheless, he started reciting mentally the last novel the Joker read him, but backward – otherwise, it wouldn’t have occupied him quite enough.

He got through the first ten pages, remembering how the Joker had turned them. The words were more and more blurry. Little by little, Tim’s thoughts melted away, forgetting the strangeness of this acoustic incursion. Soon, morning…

The shriek started again.

Tim opened his eyes wide, trying to hear anything else than the alarm. What _was_ it!?

Was it used to cover some other noise?

Tim’s heart rate accelerated. He really should stop letting his imagination get the best of him. He wouldn’t know for sure before the morning. If ever. The Joker would probably pretend nothing happened at all. He would, in his place.

That’s when he realized what the Joker was, in fact doing. Sleep deprivation was a very effective torture which would make any subject more malleable. If pushed for long enough, it could even trigger confusion up to memory lapses or hallucinations. And it was so easy; you just had to keep the victim awake.

Tim inhaled deeply. He had to sleep through this. The sound was deafening, but he had to concentrate, to ignore it… He always slept quite deeply, to Bruce’s displeasure. He wouldn’t awake even while feeling a threat, because he slept too hard. However, his high level of energy caused by the forced inactivity since his abduction wouldn’t help.

He still had to try.

He closed his eyes. That only made the sound worse, because then there was nothing else: no visual, no _thoughts_ because his brain had been so _empty_ for the last weeks, starved from any new information. His throat tightened. He couldn’t do this. He just _couldn’t_. Bruce had trained him and, before him, _Tim_ had trained _by himself_ , to meditation techniques, but he just couldn’t, he. Could. Not. He was _exhausted_ , he…

The alarm stopped. Tim sobbed. He knew it would start again.

He curled in his bed, certain the Joker was watching. He was enjoying this, Tim knew. Maybe he should make the show even more enjoyable, maybe then the Joker would let him sleep? He started crying, sobbing softly. Maybe that would calm him down. He loved it, when Tim cried. Please, make this be enough.

“Please”, he said out loud. “Please…”

This time, he didn’t realize he was falling asleep.

But he did notice when he was awaken by the hated sound once again – and, considering how exhausted he felt, this was less than an hour later. Tim bit his lip. It was still salty from his previous tears. He waited; what else could he do? He waited, and the alarm eventually stopped.

He didn’t manage to cry again this time. Nor to sleep.

The alarm sounded twice more that night.

#### ***

Of course the Joker denied it all. An alarm in the night? What a silly idea. Tim would almost have believed he had hallucinated if it wasn’t, you know the _Joker_ telling him his senses were wrong. He would rather have believed Crane while under the influence of one of his drugs.

Tim went back to sleep the day after with some apprehension but, of course, nothing happened. The next night neither, nor the next.

After a week, he awoke again, though – but not because of a sound. Because of a _punch_. The false Batman was back and, this time, a masked Superman accompanied him.

The Batman pointed at his legs. Tim’s eyes widened.

“No. No, no, _stop!_ ”

The Superman grinned and put his hands on his ankles, not only pinning his legs to the mattress but spreading them apart. Tim went white. That fear, however, was not met. Instead, Batman – a false one! – punched him again on the face. Then again. Then again.

Tim started crying, not even bothering to struggle.

#### ***

It happened again. The alarm or the beatings, usually Batman alone but sometimes accompanied by his fake Superman friend. Superman would hold him and Batman beat him, never the other way around. Once, Superman wiped gently his tears from his face – then slapped him, and laughed.

Tim was exhausted.

This went on for weeks. Months? He wasn’t sure anymore.

Every night, he laid in his bed, eyes wide opened, both hoping and dreading to fall asleep.

The worst about all this being, the Joker didn’t even hate him. No, the Joker wasn’t a hateful, angry man. He was a _loving_ one, who cared about the people he saw has close to him. He broke them with tailor-made affection.

Except, of course, he only did this to Tim to get to the Batman.

The thought should not make him feel miserable. This was, after all, _the Joker_. Who ever _wanted_ his love? Even just his _interest_ was bad-possibly-deadly news.

Then again, Tim was getting all the downsides without it even being addressed to him directly.

(But this was _The Joker!_ Some still sane part of his brain screamed.)

(Its voice was starting to get weaker.)

“Aw, little one, you look all sad. What’s wrong, my dear?”

See? The Joker _saw_ when Tim was feeling bad. He _did_ care. Because he liked to shatter those he loved didn’t mean he wasn’t able to, actually, _love_.

Tim felt sick in the stomach.

“I am fine, thank you.”

“Hush, baby, I know you aren’t. Please tell me.”

The Joker patted his lap, inviting. Tim hesitated but he didn’t really have a choice; he went and sat there.

“Tell everything to uncle J.”

“It’s nothing, really…”

Nothing he wanted to share. To anyone. Tim’s throat felt raw. He couldn’t want his love. This was _absurd_. He wasn’t an _absurd person_. He was a sane, joyful, gentle one.

He was a good boy.

He had to answer truthfully.

(No one ever wanted to be a naughty boy.)

(Not when the Joker was around.)

(Except maybe on purpose? Would the Joker love that, for Tim to be naughty so he could punish him hard enough to make him cry? The Joker loved it when he cried…)

(God, he was so _tired_ …)

“Baby boy, hush those thoughts. Tell me. Uncle J. will help you sort all this out.”

(Insane, insane!)

“I… am trying to be a good boy for you”, Tim whispered.

“And you are! Oh yes. Not at the beginning, but you learnt.”

“Then why don’t you love me?” Tim blurted out, unable to stop himself.

The Joker look startled. Then he noticed how Tim’s eyes were full of tears and he switched to… hungry wasn’t the word. Possessive, maybe.

Tim shuddered.

“Where did you get the notion that I didn’t love you?” the Joker asked.

“Robins are only there to make Batman suffer.”

Tim paled. He had said that without even thinking, without blinking, as if it was as natural as the blue in the sky.

(Batman needs a Robin.)

Tim started to tremble. Nothing made sense anymore.

He had to _sleep_. Without being terrified. He had to _stop being terrified._ _Please_.

“Hush, hush baby boy. Your worries are unfounded.”

 “But you captured me to get to Batman…”

“Yes.”

“And you _told_ me that. That Robins are only there to make Batman suffer.”

“Yes.”

Tim looked at him, not understanding. If that was true, then how could his worries be unfounded?

“That was _before_ , my boy.”

“Before…?”

“Yes.” The Joker kissed his forehead. That shouldn’t feel good. “Now, you aren’t a Robin anymore.”

Something broke inside Tim’s chest.

(He was Robin, his name was Tim Drake, Bruce had adopted him and loved him…)

He wasn’t Robin?

(He was Robin! He was a good person!)

He didn’t protest out loud, because the Joker would only argue. Instead, he put his head on the Joker’s shoulder, huddling up against him. He could almost fall asleep there.

(On _the Joker’s shoulder?_ )

“So… You really do love me?”

He was whining. Tim hated it.

Another kiss, on his hair. Tim relaxed.

“Of course I do, my boy.”

“I really thought…”

An arm, around his waist.

“Aw, dearie. You’re right. It _was_ for him, at the beginning. But now, _now_ … I got to _know_ you!”

A kiss again. Tim shuddered, needing. Physical contact, he analyzed; warmth; love. Those were a basic needs for human beings. His reaction was perfectly normal. It didn’t mean he was insane.

“Now, you are perfect”, the Joker whispered in his ear.

Two tears slid on Tim’s cheeks. Because he wanted the Joker to say that again.

Even if that meant being insane.

“You look tired, my boy. Those nightmares again?”

 _This is because of you!_ Tim wanted to scream. But it wouldn’t work. On the contrary; the Joker would push him away and punish him and…

He felt so exhausted.

“Yes… I don’t manage to sleep.”

“I don’t like that, baby boy. Sleep is important. Say, why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight, mh? I will be there to chase the nightmares away.”

Tim froze. Sleeping. With the Joker. In his bed.

“I’m… not sure…”

“I just want to be there to reassure you, dear. Don’t worry.”

The Joker had this way… not to threaten him, but to offer him a choice between a devil he knew and one he didn’t. Which _could_ be more manageable than the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t much of a choice, because Tim would beg on his knees to get some uninterrupted sleep, even if that meant getting it next to the Joker.

“I would like that. If you are sure you don’t mind…”

“Well, of course, we can’t do that all the time, it would be improper. But if it helps you… You have been a very good boy those last few weeks. I’m proud of you.”

Tim shuddered, crying a bit, silently.

“Thank you. I do my best.”

The Joker kissed his cheek, this time, barely refraining from licking his tears.

“Good boy.”

#### ***

Tim ought to feel frantic, or at the very least worried, but he was just too tired to care. The Joker had bound him in the usual way, but to his bed this time, then had disappeared into the bathroom. He was back soon, grinning, wearing a purple nightgown with a smiling Gloomy bear and an apple green nightcap with a matching purple pompon.

He was actually going to sleep there.

Maybe Tim wasn’t tired enough, in the end.

“So, what are we going to read today?”

“Anything you like”, Tim answered politely.

The Joker nodded as if that had been wise, then sat on his side of the bed – which was thankfully a double, not a single like Tim’s – and opened the book he had already chosen.

Despite his exhaustion, Tim listened greedily to every single word. It was some altered version of the Sleeping Beauty in which the prince didn’t kiss her awake up but raped her in her sleep. She only opened her eyes when the twin babies she gave birth to started sucking her breasts – and even then, the tale only became darker.

It was a harsh version, far from the brothers Grimm’s, but it was nonetheless new and that made it marvelous. The book was a thick one; Tim hoped it included more such tales for him to read.

“The end!” The Joker finally declared, full of glee with the tale’s success.

“Thank you. It was great.”

Tim didn’t have to lie, even though he would have preferred more traditional stories or even better, a newspaper. He wasn’t sure anymore of the date. He’d tried to keep counting but tiredness had blurred the days together – and now that the Joker had finished reading, Tim felt a crushing need to sleep.

Then the Joker put the book away and laid down next to him, under the blankets.

Tim froze.

“Good night, pretty one!” The Joker said cheerfully.

And he turned off the light.

Tim couldn’t move. His body felt heavy but… The Joker was right there. He could hear his breath, almost felt it against his neck.

It was a noise in the night.

Someone helped him, it was… reassuring. He wasn’t alone. If one of his so-called nightmare woke him up, he wouldn’t have to face them on his own. It was such a _relief_ …

The sound lulled Tim to asleep before he could finish his thought.

#### ***

Dick dodged Damian’s blow then jumped over the kid’s head to kick him in the back. Damian gasped, blushing with rage, but quickly turned around to counter-attack. He didn’t quite manage to bottle up his anger but put on a cool face which would have fooled most people – like, people who didn’t deal with Bruce on a daily basis.

“Come on, Damian, no need to frown!”

The kid’s mouth twisted with anger. Dick grinned. Alright, maybe Jason was right about Damian. Not that Jason had said anything, God forbid he would admit out loud anything near _liking_ someone, but he trained Damian whenever he was around.

Sometimes Jason pretended to do so just to keep himself on edge; other times he would say he was bored. Those probably weren’t entirely lies: monitoring duty _was_ boring and Jason obviously missed the roofs.

But still, he was training the kid without anyone asking him to, almost every night. Most of the time, he didn’t need to actually sit at the computer. He only had to be available if they needed external eyes on an action or to dispatch them if an emergency arose; in both cases, staying in ears’ reach was more than enough.

Anyway, that made Dick curious. Maybe Jason was maturing – and he was, somehow, under Luthor tutelage – and maybe the kid was worth the effort. Dick had tried to talk with him during daytime but Damian wouldn’t let anyone near without biting, so after a few months Dick had decided to go for the easy road for once in his life and started training him as well.

He had not expected the brief joy on Damian’s face, even less his _surprise_. That’s when Dick had realized they had been so busy looking for Tim and worrying about Luthor’s growing influence on Jason – on _Jason_ for Christ’s sake, how did he _manage_? – that they had paid close to no attention to the kid they actually did have in the house.

Well, Damian was only one out of two, considering how Dick had to drag Bruce to bed every night and remind him to _eat_. If he ever found himself wondering when Bruce last went to the bathroom, he’d cry his misery on Alfred’s shoulder – then buy Bruce fucking diapers. Maybe then the point would get across.

Or Bruce would thank him for the gain of time.

That was beside the point.

Since Damian had been pleased at the attention, Dick kept going. Soon, they established a working relationship.

“Stop jumping around like some animal, Grayson!”

Well, sort of.

“Don’t insult your enemies when you don’t even manage to touch them, it only demonstrates frustration.”

“I am not frustrated!”

“Very convincing.”

Damian grit his teeth. Even the most ingenuous people ended up learning sarcasm when frequenting Jason – and the kid sure hadn’t been one of them to begin with.

He attacked him with hardly bottled rage, which made only easier for Dick to dodge. As Robin, he had always fought around his enemies instead than against, driving them crazy by dancing gracefully on the battlefield without deigning to get hurt. He had honed this skill he honed as Nightwing, though he had also had to learn to fight harder, not having Batman’s at his side anymore.

It worked wonders on Damian who only got angrier with his lack of success.

“Stop it and fight me!”

“I’m tiring you. Isn’t this tactic worth another?”

“It’s most annoying.”

“Isn’t one supposed to annoy one’s enemies?”

Damian glared. Then stopped attacking at all and smirked, waiting to see what Dick would do now that he quit wasting energy by trying to catch him.

 _Finally_.

Dick attacked, putting himself in reach of Damian’s attacks. Since he was moving forward, it became harder for him to twist away from any blow. Damian was experienced despites his young age and didn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity.

The blow landed on Dick’s flank. However, he wasn’t a skinny 14 year old anymore. He kept going and, a few seconds later, Damian was on the ground.

Dick smiled at him.

“Good move.”

Damian looked disappointed with himself, but the praise made him sulky rather than angry.

“You got me anyway.”

“I have more experience. You’re much better than I was at the same age.”

“T-t. Of course I am. You were a mere acrobat.”

Dick laughed. He had taken his first steps on a gymnastic beam, learning to fly at the same time he learnt to walk. It was the best way to ensure he’d never be afraid of heights – and it did work.

“We were both raised in our parents business since childhood.”

Damian blinked, getting back on his feet. Obviously, he had never thought about it that way. Dick had included Bruce on purpose; after a while, a thin smile curled the kid’s lips, soon disappearing behind his usual coldness.

“It’s been enough for today. Take a shower; I’m going upstairs.”

To check on Bruce, he didn’t specify. Damian cast him a look but didn’t comment and walked toward the Cave’s showers. Dick climbed the stairs. He, too, was sticky with sweat. Damian had had him run around for quite some time.

Bruce was of course working in the library. He had spent a few days outside the previous week, poking at informants, but no one saw anything. There was a very strong chance that if Tim was still alive, he wasn’t in Gotham anymore. Dick was afraid to point it out.

“Hey. Anything new?”

“You would have been the first one to know.”

Despite the harsh tone, it wasn’t a rebuke. Dick kissed Bruce’s hair, bending carefully not to touch him. That actually startled Bruce out of his work.

“Are you hurt?”

“Just sweaty. I wouldn’t want to stain your Armani shirt.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows.

“I have stained a few of those with blood. I wouldn’t mind.”

Dick smiled, grateful for the warm words. Bruce seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe he should take advantage.

“You are more nervous than _me_ and that’s saying something. Why don’t you come with me to take some air?”

Bruce frowned.

“I don’t have time to go for a walk.”

“Don’t I know that? I meant for patrol.” Dick grinned. “It would be so _romantic_.”

Bruce laughed. Yes! Dick leaned against him to kiss him but quickly retreated, holding out his hand. Bruce hesitated but, feeling the loss of his warmth, gave up and took it. Dick couldn’t help but to grin widely and dragged him back to the stairs.

They would be patrolling together! It would be the first time since their relationship started. Dick felt as thrilled as it had been a date.

He reached for his Nightwing costume which Alfred had safely put away in a cupboard after his last JLA meeting. Dick felt spoiled.

Then, suddenly, something felt amiss. He frowned, looking around. Nothing was out of place, no one had broken in… Then he saw the showers’ door wide open and it hit him.

The Cave was empty – but no one exited it through the library.

Damian was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did tell you "the Joker" was a warning, right?  
> Please let me know if you like it so far :)


	4. The Prince

Tim woke up in the morning to the Joker grinning above him.

“Ah, finally, sunshine! I didn’t dare to wake you up considering how tired you looked yesterday, but you were starting to get me worried! It’s almost midday.”

Tim blinked, stunned. The Joker wasn’t wearing his nightgown anymore but a most usual purple three-piece suit with a stripped pattern. He had a pink daisy pinned to his chest.

Then the words’ meaning found their way to Tim’s brain and he paled.

“I overslept? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“It’s okay, cookie, I let you.”

Tim felt mollified – and ashamed to be. The Joker was taming him like a pet. But it was becoming really hard to resist.

(His name was Tim Drake, he was Bruce Wayne’s ward and Robin at night. He helped Batman to fight crime. He liked video games and roleplaying with his friend…)

(He’d better remember that.)

“Should I get up now, then?”

“Yes, of course!”

The Joker freed his hands. Tim felt dizzy and tired despite the good night’s sleep, but still much more aware than he had been the previous day. Then memories rushed back, paralyzing him with shame.

He had asked to the Joker if he loved him. _What the hell was wrong with him?_

Tim took a shaky breath and smiled at his jailor who was looking at him expectantly.

“Shall I take a shower?” Tim asked.

“Go on, like the good boy you are. We will be brunching as soon as you join me downstairs. There will be a surprise!”

Tim was quite sure he wouldn’t like it but thanked him all the same before hurrying to the shower. It was acid, not water, today; but he was getting used to it. He showered quickly and avoided his whitening face’s look in the mirror while combing his hair.

Contrarily to what the Joker promised, breakfast was quite usual if a bit more copious than usual – but since he had called it a brunch, it felt normal.

Tim was tense at first but relaxed while eating. The bacon and eggs were delicious! To think there had been a time when he had not been good enough of a boy to deserve them. No, that was rubbish; but they tasted good nevertheless. And the dessert! A delicious apple pie. Tim couldn’t keep a grin to spread on his face.

“Do you like it, my dear?”

“Oh yes, very much!” Tim answered.

He hadn’t felt that good since before he had been abducted.

(Something is wrong.)

(But what?)

“And now, the surprise!” The Joker said. “But first, close your eyes!”

Tim did. He felt a blindfold being put around his head. Then he heard the Joker moving around him and a sudden _click_. He smiled again, eager to know more.

(Wasn’t he supposed to be _worried_ instead?)

“Come on, on your feet! Take my arm, I’ll guide you.”

Tim followed as instructed.

“Careful with the step.”

They climbed stairs. Stairs that were not in the living room before.

Step to the _outside_.

Tim started shaking – and, at the same time, grinning. He felt like he could do _anything_.

(Dangerous… Wrong…)

“Are we going somewhere?”

“I am afraid you did not earn that right just yet, honey-pie. But you sounded so worried yesterday! So we are going upstairs.”

Upstairs. One step closer to freedom. Why was he so _scared_?

(Because he wouldn’t dare to get away.)

(Hush!)

Tim chuckled.

“Upstairs? But I don’t know the place!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you around. Aaand… Tadam!”

The blindfold was removed; Tim blinked until the luminosity became bearable again.

They were in a warehouse, as he’d thought. He couldn’t see any door and the only windows were skylight, five meters above his head. It was _dark_ outside, which meant the Joker had been lying about the time – probably since the beginning. That made sense: if he was with Tim during nighttime, he could do whatever he wanted during daytime.

For example, being held in Arkham.

Tim chuckled. That theory was likely to be correct. After all, the Joker was the asylum prince, able to get in and out so easily it had driven them quite insane. He seemed to use a different trick each time and yet, he always found _another_ one for next time.

Well, Tim could also be wrong. But if he _was_ correct, that meant he still was in Gotham.

(Batman could still find him…)

(Or not.)

Tim stopped staring at the ceiling and looked down. The place was mostly bare, except for a stage set against one of the walls. It was framed by red curtains. A purple-padded armchair had pride of place on it.

“What is it?” Tim asked.

“For today, your throne, my dear. Go on, sit down.”

Tim grinned. The Joker escorted him on the stage and made sure he was settled. Then he handed him a plastic hammer, the kind of toy meant for babies, which would make a noise if used.

“Shall I call our guests?”

Tim nodded eagerly. He vaguely remembered he had been worried about something, but he couldn’t remember what. He was grinning, happy, certain everything was going to be alright. He could do anything!

The Joker clapped his hands twice and people appeared from… somewhere. Tim didn’t really bother to look. He was too busy staring at their beautiful clown masks and costumes. So many colors! He had not realized how bare their flat was, except for the Joker’s bedroom of course. It was all in sepia tones. But now! Those thugs formed such a bright, colored crowd!

“Those are my friends”, the Joker pointed out. “I hope you like them.”

“They are beautiful!” Tim answered, clapping his approbation.

The Joker smiled. Strangely enough, his smile wasn’t reassuring; it was way too wide, hungry, like a wolf’s.

“I knew you would see things my way”, the Joker told him. Then, to the thugs: “Bring our guests forward.”

Two people were pushed on their knees in the semi-circle the crowd made around the stage. Contrarily to the others, they didn’t wear clown masks but just bags on their heads, and their wrists were bound.

Tim laughed. It was so funny!

(Why was it funny?)

(What did the Joker _drugged_ him wi…)

“Very good! Now. Ladies and gentlemen…” the Joker started, bowing.

The only girl in the crowd giggled and blew kisses at him.

(It’s _Harley Quinn!_ )

(Actually, where was she _before?_ )

“Allow me to present you my boy!”

The crowd cheered. Tim blushed. They were happy to see him! He waved a greeting, his smile widening on his face.

Two red files were handled to the Joker who opened them and nodded seriously.

“We are here today because something has to be done about this city. Criminals are roaming in its streets. We shall cleanse it!”

The crowd laughed and clapped. Tim wrinkled his nose. That was very serious! Very important business! And he was part of it, of course.

“So we are here today to judge which of those two men is guilty!”

The bags were removed from the men’s heads. Their mouths were kept shut with adhesive but, when they saw the Joker, they still paled and tried to get away. The thugs made sure to push them back on their knees.

“One of them is Jake Murdoch, who stands trial today for raping his daughter, Anna.” The Joker shook his head, sad. “Horrible business.”

He handed the file to Tim who read it carefully. It was, indeed, gruesome business. The man had repeatedly raped his 8-year-old girl and got away with it.

“We found some hard evidence but cannot bring it to the police for obvious reasons. Which is why we need to hold trial ourselves!”

People nodded and clapped at this. Tim grinned, glad they were doing something so important for the city.

“Then we have Malcolm Williams. Malcolm had no child of his own to rape so, instead, he decided to become part of Gotham City CPS, which provided him with lots of others’ children to play with.”

The crowd booed. The Joker gave the second file to Tim. It was as horrible as the first one: Williams had been part of Gotham CPS for five years already without being caught. He had put his hands on a dozen of children and abused them remorselessly.

“Now, my dear. Let’s decrease Gotham’s criminality by half. Which of those men shall we kill?”

The word ‘kill’ triggered some warning in Tim’s brain. Killing was bad. … Wasn’t it?

“But this is a _courtroom_ ”, the Joker pointed out, and Tim realized he’d spoke out loud. “You know sometimes, people are sentenced to death here in the US.”

Ah yes, that made sense.

“And those are horrible people, aren’t they?”

Tim nodded. They were.

“So they deserve death, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do.”

“Which one deserves it _more_?”

There it was again, the hungry smile, like the Joker wanted to lean toward Tim and bite his neck to the blood.

(He had something to remember. Something very _important_ …)

“So, are they guilty?”

“Yes, they are! Guilty, guilty, _guilty!_ ”

The crowd cheered. Tim grinned, happy with their reaction.

“ _Who_ is the _guiltiest_?”

(His name was Tim Drake, he was Bruce Wayne’s ward…)

This was a difficult case. Because, of course, both deserved death. But if he was to choose…

“The incest one. Jake Murdoch? I mean, she was his _daughter_ …”

Tim felt insecure about that choice, so he looked at the Joker for approval.

(And Robin at night… but he was fighting crime, right?)

The Joker grinned.

“Very good choice, my dear.”

(Right?)

The Joker drew an old 6-shots Colt from his pocket and went down the stage. The man tried to scream, to get away – but to no avail, the thugs were surrounding him.

There was one _bang_.

Then the crowd cheered again, whistling their approbation, clapping. Harley Quinn even winked at Tim.

The Joker smiled at him.

“Good boy.”

Tim blushed.

#### ***

Damian had been observing the rooftop for less than five minutes when a shadow dropped from the surrounding darkness to attack the person whom he was focusing on. He couldn’t quell a disapproving noise from the back of his throat. He had not been aware of any tracking device on his person, certainly put there because of his predecessors’ previous failures.

Whatever their skills, his father should have known he was better. There had never been anything to worry about.

“ _Talia_ ”, the Batman growled.

His tone implied menace more than recognition. Damian felt he had to reassure him despite the lack of danger and stepped out of the shadows. As soon as he did, he heard the soft noise of someone landing at his side. Nightwing could walk as if made of thin air; he only provoked the sound to warn Damian of his presence.

That got a frown out of Damian. What had they been thinking to come after him which such haste and obvious belligerence?

Contrarily to his expectation, his apparition did nothing to relax Batman. If anything, his hostility toward Talia increased.

“Good evening, my beloved”, Talia said, unruffled. “I was hoping to see you during my stay, though maybe not quite so soon.”

“What do you want?” Batman growled, ignoring the minor rebuff.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Batman didn’t move a muscle – and yet, his aggressiveness moved up another notch. Since he obviously didn’t intend to give any explanations, Damian looked up to cross Grayson’s gaze behind his mask, trying to convey both his annoyance and his demand for answers.

Grayson _frowned_ at him, as if he was a mere child, then glared at Talia. Antagonism from his father toward his mother was one thing; after all, they belonged together. The same coming from Grayson ought to have outraged him. However, Damian was no fool. Of course Grayson would be agitated to see such an opponent threatening his supposed claim on Batman – he was no match for her.

Grayson _had_ more qualities than Damian had anticipated. But he still wasn’t an Al Ghul, to his own dismay.

“You have no business in my city”, Batman insisted, as if wanting to reject her.

“I am, indeed, done with Gotham for the time being”, Talia agreed. “Except for the presence of my son, of course.”

“Whatever the reason why you revealed his existence at last, don’t expect me to allow you to take him back.”

Talia smiled indulgently.

“I was merely worried to see him being handled by servants, as if more important matters required your attention. More important than your son and blood”, she insisted.

Damian had to fight back a protest at this. Grayson might obviously not be the Batman his father was, he still made a satisfactory replacement – and certainly didn’t deserved to be labeled a _servant_. Damian only refrained from stating so out loud because that obviously should have been below his notice.

He thought about what Todd’s reaction would have been to such an epithet and smirked. After all his boasting, _he_ sure would have deserved to hear it.

“The way I handle Damian stopped being your concern when you left him to my care.”

“What kind of mother would I be if that were true?”

“I think you don’t understand the situation.”

Talia smiled.

“Of course I do, as I am sure do you.”

“That’s enough, Talia”, Grayson intervened, apparently tired of their never-ending conversation. “Damian stays with us.”

This interference angered Talia enough for it to show, to Damian’s astonishment.

“This is none of your concern”, she spat.

 “I am part of this family, that you like it or not, Talia. And now, so is Damian”, Grayson said, putting a protective hand on Damian’s shoulder.

How childish of him to think he could _protect_ Damian. For some reason, it still made him feel warm inside.

Talia seemed to see the gesture as inappropriate and tried to move forward. Batman interfered, blocking the way, making clear she would have to fight him to get any nearer.

They were cornering her, Damian realized with some apprehension.

“I trusted you with our son”, Talia admitted. “Then I hear yet another of your Robin disappeared. Last time, it took you more than a year before getting him back but I hoped you would have learnt from your mistakes. Yet, it has been six months already and I was lead to believe you still had not found any lead. Is that how you protect those trusted to your care?”

Batman tensed, as ready to hit her.

This was going too far.

“This is enough”, Damian said, his tone clearly annoyed. “Father, I am sure you thought well but you need not to intervene in this matter which I could have handled myself.”

He took a few steps toward his mother to prove his point. Grayson had the sense to stay back, though Batman tensed even more when he went past him. Damian looked at his mother face. She was pleased, he could see.

Unfortunately, he was to put an end to her approval.

“Mother.”

She saw he was going to go against her wishes and tried to prevent it, but Damian didn’t let her.

“I still have a lot to learn from Batman. Hence, I intend to stay. You admitted yourself I had reached a most satisfactory skill level for the league before we left for Gotham.”

She pursed her lips, disapproving.

“Moreover, as you pointed out, no one is currently filling Robin’s role. It would be foolish of me to leave in those circumstances – though, of course, I would have vanquished Drake easily if needed.”

Another growl, from Grayson this time. He really should admit Damian was better than Drake; anyone with sense could see that. Damian, of course, still had to gain their trust but otherwise, he was a much better fighter and certainly had more discipline. He was no cuddled upper-class gothamite.

Damian wouldn’t admit, even at gunpoint, that Drake had reached a good level for a plebeian, as the surveillance videos he had watched to follow Todd’s advice had taught him. Drake had determination. Maybe he would have done an acceptable sidekick for Damian at some point in time, had he not disappeared.

“I had thought of allowing your stay to go on”, Talia admitted. “But your father clearly didn’t intend to teach you himself.”

Damian smirked.

“Please do ask your most skilled follower to battle Grayson.”

She blinked at that, surprised.

“You deem him worth of your time?”

“He obviously is not the most suited partner for my father and certainly doesn’t deserve the name he has been using lately”, Damian retorted, annoyed at her lack of faith. “But he is a good warrior.”

He heard a strangled noise coming from behind him. Impossible to know if it had been caused by exasperation, amusement or both. Not that Grayson’s feelings were any of his concern.

He concentrated instead on his mother face. She didn’t hide her discontentment but she was also not insisting on the duty he had to his family. Which, of course, would have been a vain argument, Batman being family as much as herself.

“I would rather have you with me for at least one more year.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left me here”, Damian pointed out.

It sounded more like a complain than he had intended, but he didn’t back of. She smiled.

“Very well. Have it your way.” Then she turned to Batman. “Take good care of him.”

On those words, she stepped to the building’s edge, and jumped. Damian saw the numerous ninja hidden around the place disappear one by one, following her.

He then turned to his father at last – only to be caught in an embrace he had not anticipated. The black cape surrounded him as a shield against the outside world while his father’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Don’t ever do that again”, Batman muttered.

Damian rolled his eyes.

“If you want to make a new rule, pray inform me before it is implemented.”

“In case it hadn’t been explicit enough before, take it for granted, starting now. Do not get out of the manor’s premises without warning one of us – and by one of us, I mean either Alfred, Dick or myself, and clearly so, not by some innuendo. Is that clear?”

Damian nodded. He could see Grayson smile above his father’s shadow, his warm approbation surrounding them as a second cape.

Damian wondered if that was how it felt, to be Robin.

#### ***

Tim rolled on his belly, then realized he’d just rolled on his belly, which meant he wasn’t bound anymore. The thought startled him awake – and then came awareness.

Tim ran to the bathroom and puked.

God, _what did he do?_ He had _killed_ someone, God, God, he _found it funny!_

(He had been drugged.)

Which was no excuse! He should have fought! He even _had realized_ he was drugged and didn’t _do anything about it!_ He had thought it was alright because he was _fighting crime!_

(Probably a lighter version of the Joker toxin, or something similar, created to induce a false sense of happiness and make people prone to suggestions.)

Tim sobbed, his stomach clenching, arching above the toilet to puke again.

_He made the Joker kill people! He thought both of them should have died!_

(His name was Tim Drake, he was Bruce Wayne’s ward and Robin at night. He helped Batman to fight crime. He liked video games and roleplaying with his friend…)

God, God, God…

(He should flush the toilet and take a shower.)

Tim sobbed, shuddering from sheer despair. But he obeyed his internal voice, which seemed to make sense.

The shower spit acid at him.

He had caused someone’s death.

He curled in a ball.

(His name was Tim Drake, he was Bruce Wayne’s ward and Robin at night.

He had to remember this. It was important.

Really important. Vital, even.

(But he had caused someone’s death!))

He started rocking back and forth, his arms around his folded legs.

(He was _Robin_.)

He had tried to do his best. Why was he punished when he had tried to do his best? He tried to behave!

(He. Was. Robin.)

(That was the most important thing in the world.)

Why hadn’t Bruce found him? He was in Gotham! He was _certain_ of that. He had no proof, but, he was, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?

(His name was Tim Drake and he was Robin.)

He behaved and yet it _hurt!_

Why wasn’t Bruce there?

(What if Bruce never found him?)

(Oh God, no, nononon…)

He was Robin, he was Robin, hewasrobinhewasrobin…

The acid cleaned his tears away, but the shower’s dropping sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out the distressed noise now escaping from his throat. It was a desperate, inarticulate moan, the most (pathetic) hopeless sound he’d ever produced.

Someone was casting a shadow over him. He had not heard the door opening, but then, he wasn’t even sure he had closed it in the first place. He was still wearing his nightclothes.

He didn’t dare to look. He knew what he would see: the Joker’s smiling at him.

“Now, now, dear”, the Joker (would say?) said. “Another nightmare of yours?”

Tim did not answer, shaking his head. (Or just shaking?)

“Hush, baby. You are such a bright, perfect boy. You shouldn’t be so afraid all the time. I am here, now.”

Tim moaned again, terrified.

The Joker joined him in the shower, crouching next to him to put his arm around his shoulders.

“Hush, hush. I am there, now. I am with you.”

(He was Robin.)

This shouldn’t feel safe.

(He was Robin, Robin, Robin…)

But it did. Tim curled against the man’s warmth, sobbing desperately. Something wet wiped his tears away.

(He was…)

“I will _always_ be with you.”

Tim closed his eyes.

#### ***

Bruce felt Dick’s gaze weighting on him. Not that he cared: he was busy reviewing all the files filled during his self-imposed leave. Dick had been very thorough in writing them, obviously hoping he would need to read them at some point.

Then again, his leave had never been intended to last.

“So. Are you going to be Batman again?”

Bruce didn’t react, because it was obvious. Was he not in the Cave, trying to catch on?

He also didn’t answer because he was ashamed. He should have been upstairs in the library, trying to find his Robin. No; he should have found him already and patrol with him on Gotham’s rooftops, making sure he was alright.

And instead, he was in the Cave, ready to cut down the search.

“Shall I review your files on Tim?”

Of course, Dick would take that investigation in charge. It wouldn’t be dropped down entirely; neither he nor Dick – nor even less Jason – would let that happen. But still. Their efforts wouldn’t be concentrated on Tim anymore.

He was betraying a child who had trusted him with everything. With his life, with his beliefs, with his safety.

To stop now didn’t even make sense. The crucial timing was the first twenty four hours. The statistic came up without his prompting: in 76% of the missing children homicide case, the child died in the first three hours. The statistic moved to 88.5% after the first day.

Of course, one didn’t kidnap Robin for the same reason one kidnapped another child. Bruce felt terrified because he was certain Tim was still alive. Any foe kidnapping him would have put his body on display if the aim was to kill him. If the intention laid somewhere else…

Except if this had been an opportunity kill. A thug willing revenge might have stumbled upon him by chance, killed him and dumped his body in Gotham’s river.

But most probably would not have taken his mask to tie it to a cat.

“Bruce.”

Dick put his hands on his shoulders, massaging them slightly.

“Stop blaming yourself. You did all you could – you still are doing everything you can. And we won’t stop looking. But we have to concentrate on what we _can_ do.”

God knew how much it must hurt Dick to admit that out loud. Bruce knew Dick loved Tim like a younger brother, probably more so than Jason. Everyone liked Tim. The child was sunny and genuinely kind.

And they were hoping he had _died_ because the alternative was worse.

“We have to think about Gotham”, Dick continued. “And about Damian. I know you didn’t want him here at first, Bruce, but he is here now. He is our responsibility. Tim would want us to take care of him.”

Maybe he would have, the first few days. But now? If he was still alive?

Was he even the Tim they knew?

“I did all I could, but I am no Batman. We both know that. You need to get back to work.”

Dick was entirely capable of handling Gotham. Bruce had been pleasantly surprised to see how well he had done. He ought to have had more faith in his first Robin. He should have expected such a good result.

What Dick meant wasn’t that Gotham needed Bruce to be back – but that _Bruce_ needed to be Batman again.

His needs, however, were not to be taken into account in his decision.

“Stop being stubborn!” Dick exclaimed, annoyed.

“I am not saying anything.”

“Like you ever needed to.”

Bruce turned around to face him. Dick frowned, then relaxed.

“You already decided to come back, didn’t you?”

“And here I thought you could read my mind?”

Dick rolled his eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his relief.

“Only most of the time. What about Damian?”

Bruce darkened. What happened with Damian the previous month had set in motion the thought process which had ended in his decision to take the cowl back. However, he was still uncertain about what to do with the child.

 _The child_. He really didn’t manage to see him as his son, even in his thoughts.

“For God’s sake, Bruce, should I ask Clark to come down here in order to make you talk?”

“You manage well on your own.”

“Then _talk_.”

Bruce sighed.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Why do you even hesitate? He is a brat, even worse than Jason, but he can learn. He _did_ learn. And he decided to stay, to win your trust. Can’t you admit that much?”

Of course he could. But to start training Damian himself would mean…

“Even if Tim is alive, you know what he would tell you, Bruce.”

Yes, of course he knew. _Batman needs a Robin_.

“It wouldn’t mean you think he is dead”, Dick insisted.

Except it would. Wouldn’t it?

“Damian deserves it.”

“Did you talk about this with Jason already?” Bruce asked.

Dick cast him an annoyed look.

“I didn’t have to. He is the first who started treating the kid as part of the family. He _trained_ him. Without being prompted to.”

Bruce just looked at him, waiting for his answer. Dick sighed.

“Alright, I _did_ talk with Jason. He was furious that I even suggested it.”

“Then?”

“Then he agreed the kid should have a place in this family. If not as Robin yet, at least some other recognition.”

But there was no other way to include him, no other gesture Bruce could do. To another kid, he might have proposed adoption at this point. But in Damian case, that was irrelevant. Bruce might propose to acknowledge him publicly but he doubted that would make any difference in the child’s mind.

“Did Jason have any idea on what ‘other recognition’ I could provide?”

It was worth asking: Jason was the most ingenious of them, always coming up with unexpected ideas. But Dick shook his head.

“No. That’s how I managed to convince him.”

That was unsatisfactory. Reducing the research was enough of a betrayal. Giving the title so someone else…

“You remember how _you_ reacted when you heard about Jason.”

“The situation was different”, Dick protested. “And there had been no other Robin before me. It was my title, not yours to give.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Dick pouted.

“Yes, now it _is_. Mostly. With our approbation, anyway. We have the right of veto.”

Bruce almost smiled at that – but the circumstances were way too serious for a joke to brush them away. Instead, he looked Dick directly in the eyes, to enhance the importance of what would come next.

“If that were you, what would you do?”

Dick’s eyes widened. Of course; he understood exactly what Bruce was asking. Which was, as _Batman_ , if Bruce wasn’t part of the equation, what would be Dick’s decision.

He actually took a few minutes to think about it. Even though he obviously knew what he wanted _Bruce_ to do, he now looked at the situation from a new perspective.

In the end, Dick shook his head.

“It’s a difficult decision, but my answer is still the same. We cannot penalize Gotham or Damian because of what happened to Tim – whatever it is. And we cannot punish ourselves for not finding him.”

Bruce nodded, acknowledging his input.

Then he sighed and nodded again, in approval this time.

Dick smiled – not with his usual brighten but a sad, tired smile, which echoed Bruce’s own feeling.

Unwilling to endure their sight so obvious on his lover’s face, Bruce got up, and kissed him.

#### ***

Tim looked around before slipping into the living room. There was no noise, but something could still happen. The Joker was out and that meant the world was upside down; not because Tim was alone but because everything could turn into a trap.

There was food in the kitchen, which the Joker had left for him. Tim took a bit of it, then waited. Last time it had been poisoned. Thankfully, the Joker had arrived in time to save him – but he wouldn’t do it twice, so Tim had to be careful.

He piled the dishes on a trail and went back to his room as quickly as possible while being careful. Rightfully so: bats started arriving as soon as he stepped toward the door, ready to attack his face and make him drop the trail. Tim didn’t let himself be distracted by them and simply stepped outside and closed the door. They would be gone by the time the Joker arrived; they always did, like all his so-called nightmares.

He had almost reached the first floor when suddenly the steps turned 45° clockwise, transforming the stairs into a giant slide. Tim arched forward just in time to put the trail safely on the corridor ground but soon lost balance, falling, sliding back to the ground floor. The door had been somehow opened and the bats invaded the hall, their small wings flapping around madly, their summed screams almost unbearable by their intensity. Tim covered his head with his arms, waiting for their fury to pass.

It took several minutes.

Then the steps turned back in place and Tim was able to climb the stairs and reach his meal. It probably had been poisoned in the meantime, though, so he merely sighed and brought it back downstairs.

Hopefully, the Joker would be back before dinner, so he would at least have one warm meal for the day.

( _Hopefully?_ )

Now that he was, once again, free to come and go in the Joker’s absence, Tim could sleep during the day if he had ‘nightmares’ at night. Of course, he also could be attacked during the day, now, but he mostly managed to get the minimal number of hours needed for his brain to work properly.

Yet, he felt tired. Maybe tired wasn’t the right word. It was more like – weary.

Well, at least, this morning, the water hadn’t been boiling, so he had been able to shower without hurting himself.

A _click_ warned him of the Joker’s arrival. Tim covered his eyes while the not-so-secret-anymore door opened in the living room’s wall. The Joker had promised him he would take his eyes if he ever tried to peak, and Tim believed him.

“Hello sunshine! Aw, you didn’t have lunch yet?”

“It felt tasteless without your company”, Tim answered automatically.

The Joker smiled, pleased. Flattery always worked on him.

“Why, thank you!”

He came near Tim to kiss his cheek, like he did from time to time. Tim summoned a grateful smile; it came way too easily for his taste.

He didn’t even find it in him to try _not to_ feel relieved. The Joker was there meant he was safe: no more blades launched from the cupboards, no more bats, no more poisoned food.

“You are so pale”, the Joker said, pinching his porcelain-white cheek. “We should go upstairs so you can tan in the afternoon sun.”

Tim fought back the urge to puke. He knew the skin of his face and shoulders was definitively white by now. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror most of the time. Thankfully, his hair still was black. He suspected the Joker’s green wasn’t due to the acid; maybe it was just dye.

Also, the Joker’s ‘afternoon’ started at midnight. So much for tanning.

“I feel fine”, Tim lied, trying not to think about what happened upstairs. “Why don’t we just settle down here, just the two of us?”

“Hush, don’t be silly. You are white as a ghost”, the Joker sniggered. “Come on, let’s go!”

Tim quickly hid his eyes before the Joker activated the mechanism, shaking with dread. … Dread? He usually felt happy as a rainbow when they went upstairs. But not this time – which meant the Joker hadn’t drugged him. And how could he? Tim hadn’t eaten since the morning.

“Can’t I just grab a snack before going?” he asked, ashamed to look for the easy way out, but terrified to go without the toxin to ease the way.

“We won’t stay for long. I’ll prepare you something good to eat when we’re back. Come on!”

Tim felt tears rolling on his cheeks while he followed. The Joker grinned at him.

The crowd was already there, waiting for them. They cheered as they appeared, Harley Quinn whistling to show her enthusiasm.

“Go, baby! Puddin’, you’re the best!”

Tim’s teeth were chattering when he sat on his usual throne. Two hooded men where were waiting for him to judge them; two files were ready for him to read them on a table. Tim sobbed.

 “Please…”

“Hush, baby, this is for your own good. Just one little trial, then you can eat. What do you think?”

The threat was clear in his wording, though the tone was as friendly as the Joker could be. Which didn’t mean much.

Tim picked up the first file. The crowd acclaimed him, pushing him to go on.

This was his seventh trial.

Technically, all the people the Joker brought to him were criminals. The first ones had been the worst, though; with time passing, the crimes became less and less horrible. More common.

Under the toxin’s influence, Tim had not cared about it, always pointing an accusing finger to the one he sincerely thought to be the worst. Now…

(What do you have to lose, Robin?)

Tim swallowed and read the files carefully. If he had to kill one and let one free – he’d better make the right choice.

This time, when the Joker pulled the trigger, Tim puked.

The crowd laughed around him, Harley clapping and booing alternatively. The Joker’s strong hands picked him from the ground and dragged him to their private lair. Tim closed his eyes shut, sobbing, shaking. He didn’t even remember the dead man’s name.

(Jimmy Dove.)

He didn’t _want_ to, he didn’t _want_ to kill!

(But maybe would he finally get his treat, now? Just one bite of intoxicated food, so he would feel better.)

But he was Robin…

“Ah, my boy, don’t be so distressed. You did good. You really did good.”

The Joker sat on the couch, holding Tim tight.

“You made the right decision today.”

Maybe he could ask, then?

“Food?”

“Don’t be silly. If you are sick enough to puke everywhere, I’m not going to give you food.”

Tim made a distressed noise. The Joker started rocking him.

“Don’t worry, I will give you food tomorrow. I promise.”

“Please”, Tim sobbed. “Please.”

“Hush, hush. You’re such a good, lovely boy.”

The Joker’s hand ran in his hair. His lips kissed his cheeks, tasting his tears as if they were the most delicious ambrosia. The man’s warmth surrounded Tim while he kept muttering words of comfort and love.

“You are the most perfect boy in the world”, the Joker was swearing.

And Tim kept weeping because he didn’t need the toxin, after all; because those words made him happy.

#### ***

Jason wished he was angry. Angry would have felt good; instead, he felt hollow.

He stepped inside the apartment he had been living in for the last seven months. To his surprise, Lex was there, working at his laptop in the living room. He glanced up when hearing him.

“Come here.”

Usually, Jason would have protested to such a direct command – he still hated being ordered around, which was perfect since Lex loved to see him try to resist. Lex always ended up getting the last word.

But today, Jason just went to sit next to his lover and put his head against his shoulder.

“What happened?”

“Why are you here? You had an appointment at 6.”

“I canceled it.”

Jason frowned. Business always came first for Lex.

“Bruce called me to make sure I would be waiting for you”, Lex admitted easily, as if this was common occurrence. As if he was _supposed_ to be there for Jason. “Didn’t tell me why.”

“They announced to Damian that his training as Robin would start today”, Jason said.

The brat’s face hadn’t lit up at the news. On the contrary, his nod had been serious, accepting but also respectful. He had made no comment about Tim, he hadn’t gloated about how much better he was.

Even Damian knew what this nomination meant, and had enough sense to shut up.

“I see.”

And now _Lex_ was being all compassionate. Had everyone got knocked on the head?

“Stop being weird”, Jason mumbled.

“Would it feel better if I pretended to be happy about it? Technically, I prefer Batman to work alone. Especially if the alternative is him working with a reckless, assassin-trained child.”

Jason snorted, but Lex was right: jokes made no sense in his current mood.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Lex asked.

Jason closed his eyes. There was nothing anyone could do. Jason couldn’t even stand the sight of Gotham, lately, knowing his little brother – _Robin, you’re alive!_ – might either be detained or lying dead in one of those buildings.

“Let’s go back to Metropolis”, Jason finally said. “Let’s go back home.”

#### ***

The skylights were obscured by winter snow, Tim noted. It had to be December or, most probably, January, for it to last so well. He wished he could see the stars.

Each time he went upstairs, it felt like he was going to his own trial. Or maybe his funeral. Each time, a little piece of him died. There couldn’t be so much of his old self left.

(He was Robin.)

“Let’s do this, cupcake! Did you choose yet?”

Tim went back to present time with reluctance.

“I did, my dear. Shall I point it to you?”

“Oh, I’ve got a better idea”, the Joker laughed.

Then he gave him the gun.

Tim blinked. It felt cold and heavy in his hand, as it should.

The stars were hidden. This was his funeral, in the end.

“You know how it works, don’t you? You just have to take off the security switch there…”

Tim’s fingers worked as instructed. They weren’t shaking.

(No, don’t!)

“Don’t be scared, boy. You are the judge, aren’t you? It seems only fair that you get the right to execute the sentence. Right?”

Robin would point this to the Joker and fire. No – Robin couldn’t do that. Robin didn’t kill.

“There, which one did you choose? You might want to get nearer. We wouldn’t want you to miss.”

The Joker’s hands, on his shoulders, prompted him to get up, then down the stage. The thugs were perfectly silent around them. Tim stopped in front of his target. The Joker probably waved at the crowd, because the men retreated, carrying the one he spared along.

Tim heard a door closing.

“You point it like this, yes? One finger on the trigger.”

“I don’t want to”, Tim protested feebly.

“Don’t you want to be a good boy?”

Tim swallowed.

“Of course, but…”

“Do you want to be a _naughty_ boy?”

“No!” Tim answered right away. “Well, except if you want me to…”

The Joker laughed. His hands still rested on Tim’s shoulders and he could feel his warmth, less than one inch behind his back.

“You know I love it when you do something naughty to please me. You always cry beautifully afterwards.”

(He was Robin. _Robin_.)

“Isn’t this man guilty?”

Yes, he was.

“Don’t you like to please me?”

Yes – yes he did.

“So what are you waiting for, mh?”

There was a _bang_. It echoed appropriately in the empty warehouse. Tim wondered if it was insulated or if someone would hear.

But there had been other gunshots before, had there not? Fired by the Joker.

Tim’s fingers lost their grip on the gun, which slowly fell to the ground.

There was no man in front of him now – only a corpse. A. Corpse. Cadaver. Flesh. Someone he – just – killed.

A distressed moan resounded. Ah, yes, it came from his own throat.

One arm quickly put around his waist prevented Tim to fall. Another soon hold him closer to the Joker, whose breath caressed Tim’s neck.

“You did good, my dear. You did really good.”

Warmth bubbled its way into Tim’s stomach, despite the mixed feeling of – distress? Pride?

There was a corpse at his feet, and he had been the one to make it so.

“You’re a good boy. My perfect boy.”

(He… was…)

Tim hiccupped. It was almost a laugh – almost a sob.

“What is it? Talk to me, cupcake.”

“Robin doesn’t kill.”

The words left Tim’s lips before he could think about it, but then, he reflected, they made sense. Robin didn’t kill. Robin was Batman’s partner, and neither could kill.

A kiss on his neck, on his – wet? – cheek.

“No, he does not”, the Joker admitted.

Robin didn’t kill. But he just killed someone.

Tim wanted to scream – but, but it was too late for that, wasn’t it?

“So, what you mean is…” the Joker pressed.

“I… I am not Robin”, Tim admitted, shaking.

The ground was cold; they were now sitting there. But the Joker felt warm, warm and secure behind his back, his arms around him.

“You are not.”

(He was… He was…)

“So who _am I?_ ” Tim asked at last.

The strong, reassuring hands were stroking his arms, his belly, patting his thighs.

“Who am I?”

One of those hands cupped his face and forced it up so he would look at the Joker in the eyes, his breath on his lips, his smile steady for him to see.

“You are who you decide to be”, the Joker answered.

Tim pushed his cheek against the Joker’s hand. If felt good… He was so, so afraid, of the void, because he didn’t know who he was anymore, he didn’t, but the Joker was _there_ , strong and steady, and telling him how lovely he was.

If he was lovely, it meant he was a good boy, right? (Right?)

His other hand kept stroking his flank, and it felt even better, so, so reassuring, so good, that Tim moaned. He felt warm, yes, maybe he could relax at last, just a little bit, and those touch, he – he wanted more of that.

He moaned once more. The Joker was frowning.

“Are you _hurt_?” he asked.

Tim almost giggled at that.

“No, please, do it again?”

The Joker kept stroking, caressing him, one hand on his body, the other petting his hair. This was perfect, this was…

“Like this?”

“Yes… It feels good. When you touch me”, Tim admitted.

Those hands, strong, purposeful, touching him. One got down his back and Tim arched, shuddering. The Joker laughed.

“You make a lovely cat.”

The hunger was there, Tim noted. Not as devouring as when he cried. Maybe a bit wondering.

The corpse stared at them, a perfect little hole in the middle of its forehead.

“I don’t think I’m a cat”, Tim said, then moaned again, softly.

He felt warm. Warm, especially… there. In this place he had been too terrified to think about most of the time since the Joker had found him.

(He just killed someone. Robin didn’t kill, so he was no Robin.)

(He just killed someone.)

“Touch me more?” he begged.

“As much as you’d like.”

But this, this felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Was it? He needed more. He needed…

The Joker grinned, kissing his cheek. Ah, Tim was crying again. The Joker loved that, loved it so much he started licking the tears away, like he only did when he was really happy with him.

(Why was he feeling sick? Just at the back of his head, just at the tip of his tongue…)

Maybe because this wasn’t. _Enough_.

“I want you to be closer.”

“Come closer then, my dear.”

Tim tried; he sat on the Joker’s lap and pressed himself against him, chest against chest, the Joker’s hands resting on his lower back, then his hips. Tim gasped. He was…

“Please”, Tim begged.

But while he did not stop, the Joker also didn’t do anything _else_.

He probably didn’t even know _how_. Tim started shaking. The Joker didn’t get what he was asking for. God – the shaking turned into giggles. The Joker didn’t _know_.

“You wouldn’t even be _able_ to fuck me, would you?”

The Joker froze, blinking. Realization slowly emerged in his eyes. Tim didn’t wait for him to protest. His laughs were turning back to shakings and he couldn’t stand – he just couldn’t – the corpse was looking at them…

“But please, please touch me _more?_ I am a good boy, am I not? You said you loved me.”

“Oh I but _do_ , honey-pie!”

“Then _show me_.”

The Joker considered his options. Then rose, putting Tim back on his feet in the process, not letting him go.

“Let’s go back downstairs.”

Tim didn’t dare to challenge him. The corpse followed them with his eyes. The basement’s door closed on them, but it was still starting, Tim could feel it on the back of his neck. Then the Joker’s hand landed right there, stroking his skin, and Tim shuddered with relief.

“Are we going to your room?” he asked in a childish voice.

“Yes, yes we are, my dear.”

They went up the stairs. Tim realized he had not looked away when the door had been opened, and the Joker hadn’t punished him. Maybe he was now good enough to know that secret?

The bedroom was full of colors and life. The bed was soft, its blankets warm and welcoming – but less so than the Joker’s arms, which closed around him again as soon as they laid down.

He kissed Tim’s forehead.

“Please”, Tim begged once again.

His hands got in motion. Petting, caressing, making him feel like home. The Joker’s smell drifted around. Tim relaxed. There were just them, them and nothing else in the world, those hands, this touch and the Joker and that was _it_.

“More, more, please. Closer.”

The Joker’s mouth on his face, his forehead, both of his eyelids, his cheeks. His straps came open. Metal, cold on his belly – snap! One of his shirt’s buttons. Tim moaned, rubbing against the flat blade. The Joker made a noise, then snap, snap, and a caressing scratch of the knife on his skin.

“Yes, please…”

The blade, in his trousers, tearing the fabric apart. Tim spread his legs. The knife, useless now that his skin was exposed, caressed his belly on its way up. Then – stab – right there, in the mattress – one inch short of Tim’s face.

Tim _whined_.

“Yes, my lovely boy”, the Joker approved.

Then, not a blade anymore, but a hand – _his hand_ – on Tim’s belly, warm, perfect, sliding down… and down…

Tim gasped.

It closed around him, firmly. Tim bucked – moaned – _moved_ against it, and it moved with him, and the Joker said ‘ _darling_ ’, and Tim came, so hard, so sweet, so – perfect.

The only sound left was panting. Tim was in a perfectly safe cocoon, getting his breath back. Someone else was panting there, and that someone was the Joker. There was something warm and hard pressing against Tim’s thigh and an astonished look on the Joker’s face.

Tim smiled – then pulled the Joker closer and kissed him.

#### ***

_The gestational period of a human child is nine months. From personal experience, this is also the exact time it takes for a monster so reach term._

_Isn’t that lovely?_

_(Call me theatrical if you must, but I like to see it that way.)_

_Then of course, the newly born monster still would have a lot to learn from his parent. Or shall we say, his mother cell?_

_Because, really, this sounds more like mitosis to me than like actual reproduction. After all, reproduction is a bestial act of passion – such a distasteful lack of restrain. While there was nothing left to chance in the process we are talking about._

_After the birth, however… One can only marvel and watch the monster growing, testing its claws, until – at last – it becomes unstoppable._

_By Indirillan_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me?


End file.
